


An Awfully Big Adventure

by hms_seth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: reel_merlin, F/M, Inspired by a Movie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 59,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hms_seth/pseuds/hms_seth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To his knowledge, Merlin is the only person in the entire world who has magic (he's Googled it enough, after all), which is good reason to keep it to himself and make sure he doesn’t draw too much attention. So when a strange man named Arthur offers to take him to a world with magic, well, how can Merlin resist? And Camelot is beautiful, right up until Merlin learns a tyrant king is waging a war against magic, and Merlin is supposed be the one to save everyone. Maybe he should have just stayed home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Awfully Big Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't understand the title reference, I am judging you. In all seriousness, this doesn't particularly follow the film, but was inspired by it in every way, shape, and form.
> 
> All my thanks to Footloose (loaded_march) for the beta, and to my friends for being my cheerleaders and holding such high hopes for me. Here's hoping I lived up to expectations.

The forest is dark and calm; peaceful, some might even say, with only the soft sounds of wildlife occasionally disturbing the quiet.

A woman wakes up screaming.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“I had a dream,” she says quietly later, resting her chin on her knees as she stares unseeing at the ground. She’s clearly unsettled and maybe even a little frightened, which in turn is making the man sitting with her feel very ill at ease.

He places a hand on her shoulder. “What was the dream about?” he asks gently.

“It was horrible,” she says. “I saw horrible things. There was a fight—a _war_ —blood, everywhere, and death. We were _losing_. But then there was this man—a boy, really, with eyes glowing gold. He turned the tide of the fight.”

She raises her gaze to look at her brother.

“He’s going to save us all.”

The man straightens up at that. She knows he's been waiting for something like this for a long time now, and the eagerness flickering in his expression only confirms it.

“Where is he?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Not here. He’s somewhere far away.”

“How far?” he presses, though his voice is still gentle.

“Not of this world,” and she knows he understands from the look on his face.

His expression turns serious as he nods to himself. “I’ll set off to see the Lady of the Lake at first light,” he decides, getting to his feet and turning to leave—but then he pauses, turning back to look at her.

“What’s his name?” he asks.

She doesn’t hesitate in her response.

“Merlin.”

* * *

Merlin opened his eyes to the sound of his alarm blaring loudly. 

One of three alarms, actually.

The second alarm was across the room, where Merlin would have to get up and turn it off if he wanted it to stop, and the third was under his bed, last he saw it.

At least, _in theory_ that was how it should work, and it had been worth a shot, but in the end it was somewhat of a stupid theory considering it wasn’t as if he actually had to get up to turn them off.

Merlin groaned and shut his eyes again, rolling over onto his side and waving his hand carelessly in the air—and just like that, all three alarms ceased blaring. He was all prepared to go back to sleep now that the noise had stopped, but as if she had a sixth sense for this kind of thing, his mother’s voice rang up the stairs.

“Merlin, if you go back to sleep you’ll be late!”

Merlin’s eyes flew open again.

Oh, right, he had set three alarms in order to make it to his university class on time. _Shit_.

Well, it wasn’t like he was motivated to go. Maybe if he just pretended he hadn’t heard her...

“Merlin Howden! You will get up and get ready right this minute, young man! Your father and I did not help pay your tuition so you could sleep in and miss your classes!”

Merlin grimaced. He hated it when she played that card. She was right though, so Merlin rolled himself out of bed reluctantly and began picking through his disaster of a room in search of clothes. He sniffed at the ones he found until he came across a shirt that smelled relatively clean, and pulled it on.

After a quick stop in the bathroom he made his way downstairs. His father John was at the table; his mother Mary at the stove. 

“Merlin,” she chided without even turning to look at him, “For someone so thin, you’re rather good at making it sound like a herd of elephants are tromping down the stairs.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and exchanged a grin with his father, who was already digging into his own breakfast. His mother was always making comments on Merlin’s weight and taking every effort to fatten him up, but apparently Merlin’s metabolism worked faster than she could feed him.

It didn’t stop her from trying though, and Merlin heard his stomach growl as she turned around with a plate of pancakes stacked taller than his head. Of course; even if Merlin was running late, she was determined to see him eat. A mother thing, he figured.

She set them on the table, and Merlin practically migrated after them, thanking her and then tucking in without a second thought.

It really was a miracle he was so skinny—Merlin could put away far more food than the average person.

He blamed that on his magic.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“Bye mum, da!” Merlin shouted over his shoulder as he ran out the front door.

“Merlin!” He turned around to see his mother standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Be careful, dear.” Merlin would have rolled his eyes at her words, except he knew the reason behind them, and it wasn’t a good reason, was never a good reason, haunted Merlin to this day—but Merlin didn’t want to think about it, so he just smiled charmingly at her.

“Yeah, of course mum, don’t worry!”

She gave him a _look_ , but seemed satisfied before she closed the door, and Merlin immediately took off running again—right into someone.

 _Well, that’s what you get for not looking in front of you_ , Merlin thought to himself, but he was running late; all he could do was glance up into the other man’s startled blue eyes for a moment before he was off running again. “Sorry!” he called back over his shoulder, not having any time for a proper apology.

In the end, he only just barely made it to class on time—but he had, for which he could breathe a sigh of relief. Not that it mattered; the class was boring as hell. They all were, really. Merlin hardly paid attention, instead letting his thoughts drift to other things.

His birthday was in almost a month. He’d be turning twenty-one. His parents said it was a huge thing, and Merlin wanted to agree, but it was hard when he didn’t have any friends to speak of to celebrate with. His parents would possibly buy him a cake and a few gifts, and that would be it.

Merlin didn’t mind too much though; he’d always felt oddly detached from his surroundings for a reason he couldn’t explain. The fact that he had magic didn’t really help, especially since he had to keep it secret.

Will had known, of course. Called them “magic tricks.” But Will wasn’t around anymore, and now Merlin didn’t have anyone.

Merlin didn’t even know how or why he had magic. He certainly hadn’t inherited it from his parents since he was adopted, and they had no idea who his birth parents were, so Merlin didn’t have any ideas. He’d never met another person with magic, and he was starting to think that he wouldn’t ever.

It was a depressing thought; an almost lonely existence—his parents said he was special, but Merlin would have given almost anything to just be _normal_. Or at least to know him and his magic weren’t alone in the world.

The sound of people walking and chattering jerked him to attention when he realised that the professor had dismissed class, leaving him to scramble out of his seat to exit the room hastily.

He was making his way across campus when two things out of the ordinary happened: one, his magic flared up—which it _never_ did, and two, he could feel someone’s gaze on him—which also never happened. No one ever bothered paying attention to Merlin.

Feeling unnerved, Merlin looked up, immediately noticing a familiar pair of bright blue eyes looking directly at him—the man he had bumped into when leaving his house.

Most would look away upon being caught staring, but the man didn’t avert his eyes; didn’t even look ashamed that he _was_ staring.

The man seemed to be perhaps a few years older than Merlin, blond hair that looked almost absurdly shiny in the sun and a perfect match to his baby blues. His strong physique was prominent even from a distance, and he had a solemn look on his face.

They maintained eye contact for almost a minute before Merlin became flustered, and in the end he was the one to look away first. He walked away quickly, even though he could feel the man’s piercing gaze following him.

* * *

As the days went by, Merlin seemed to spot the stranger almost everywhere he went, fitting in seamlessly, and Merlin wondered why he had never seen the blond before. They didn’t speak, but they were on a strange sort of nodding terms, acknowledging each other whenever they made eye contact, which was very frequently. It was as if they were magnets drawn to each other.

After the initial weirdness of the man always being there finally passed, it was oddly...comfortable. It was one of the most comfortable relationships Merlin had ever had, actually, and they didn’t even _have_ a relationship, because they’d _never spoken_.

Merlin was trying to work up the courage to get to that stage though, because there was something awfully compelling about the stranger. Not just his attractiveness, though Merlin would have been blind not to notice that as well, but a _feeling_ he emanated, and that feeling piqued Merlin’s interest, because he couldn’t help feeling like they were the same.

Not magic—the man didn’t have magic, of that Merlin was sure. He would have sensed it, or at least, he thought he would. Merlin had never met anyone else with magic to be sure, but deep down, Merlin suspected he would just _know_ if he ever came across someone else with magic. So no, it wasn’t that. It was simply the feeling that the blond didn’t belong there, just like Merlin felt like he didn’t belong. And that, above all else, made him desperately want to talk to the man.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Unexpectedly, the stranger was the one to approach him first, after approximately a week and a half of their faux acquaintance.

He caught up with Merlin after his last class at uni, because of course he’d watched Merlin enough to know when his classes ended, and stuck his hand out for Merlin to shake. It occurred to Merlin that most people might consider the man a sort of stalker, but Merlin had never gotten any sort of _creepy_ vibes from him.

“I’m Arthur le Fay,” he introduced himself, derailing Merlin’s train of thought. “I’ve seen you around so often that I figure it’s probably time we just get it over with and talk to each other.” Arthur chuckled at that, and Merlin found himself smiling in response. Unexpected though it was that Arthur had spoken to him, Merlin was just fine with the idea of talking. He was a bit hopeful; keen, even, to see what Arthur had to say.

“Merlin Howden,” he said, taking Arthur’s hand and shaking it firmly. “And I’m just fine with the idea of talking. Would you like to get coffee with me? It’ll be easier if we’re not standing around on campus.”

“Alright,” Arthur said after a moment. “We can get...coffee.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Apparently Arthur wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. He’d taken one sip of the coffee Merlin had bought him, made a face, and then pushed it aside as if he found the drink beneath him. Merlin tried not to wince at the wasted money and instead began thinking of a conversation starter.

“I haven’t seen you around before, are you new to the area?” was what Merlin came up with.

Arthur nodded. “Yes, I only arrived in the city a little under two weeks ago.”

Merlin took a drink of his coffee. “Oh, how do you like it so far?”

Arthur glanced out the window, a faraway look on his face. “I miss home,” he said quietly.

“Must be rough,” Merlin observed. He himself had lived in London his entire life, but he imagined if you didn’t actually want to move, it would be difficult to adjust somewhere new. “Where is home?” he asked, wanting to get to know Arthur more.

However, Arthur turned away from the window to look back at Merlin, glaring. “Do you normally ask strangers this many questions?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Easy, mate, I was only trying to be friendly.”

Arthur tensed, narrowing his eyes, “I’m not your ‘mate’ considering we’ve only just met.”

Upon hearing that, Merlin frowned. “You’re right. That was my mistake.”

“Yes, I think so,” Arthur agreed.

“I could never be friends with such an arse,” Merlin continued in a conversational tone.

“Hey!” Arthur protested, a hint of warning in his voice. “You should watch your tongue.”

Normally Merlin might have listened, but Arthur’s attitude had rubbed him the wrong way, and he was very put out about the fact that for all their shared nods and the vibes Merlin had gotten from him, Arthur had turned out to be a complete prat.

“ _You’re_ the one who got defensive,” Merlin shot back. “I was only trying to be nice, and you bit my bloody head off!”

“Perhaps you should have stopped trying to be so nosy, then!”

“ _Nosy_?! I was just curious!”

By that point they had attracted the attention of nearly every other person in the shop, but Arthur seemed too angry to care, and all Merlin wanted to do was punch Arthur in his stupidly perfect face.

“Clearly, this was a mistake.”

“You think?” Merlin asked sardonically.

Arthur scowled at him before getting to his feet, and two things happened near simultaneously. First, Arthur’s knee hit the table, which jarred even as he let out a noise of pain. And then two, to add insult to injury the rocking upset Arthur’s forgotten cup of coffee, which proceeded to fall over, pop the lid off, and pour extremely hot coffee all over Arthur’s lap.

Merlin, who had reacted fast enough to save his own coffee, could only watch helplessly as Arthur cursed even louder, everyone’s eyes on them as Arthur stalked toward the exit, hissing and spitting.

The second the door banged shut behind him, everyone’s gaze turned toward Merlin instead, and Merlin let his head drop heavily against the table in utter humiliation.

That had been a disaster.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

After that, Merlin gave Arthur the cold shoulder, because Arthur was a stupid unfortunately good-looking jerk of a prat. Luckily, Arthur himself didn’t seem too keen on talking to Merlin again either, but reluctantly, the two of them remained on their odd sort of nodding terms.

Because as much as they didn’t like each other, Merlin still got that _vibe_ from Arthur, and Arthur—well, it didn’t seem like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

They could have continued on like that for an indeterminable amount of time, Merlin thought. And they probably would have, if Merlin hadn’t noticed Arthur out of the corner of his eye almost a week after their first interaction. 

He was crossing the street, and Merlin didn’t think much of it until the sound of people shouting warnings reached his ears. Merlin turned to look properly at Arthur without a moment’s hesitation, just _knowing_ the reason behind the screaming—and sure enough, a bus was barrelling down the street, heading right toward Arthur.

The bus driver clearly hadn’t expected someone to step out onto the street so suddenly, for they weren’t slowing down fast enough to avoid Arthur. Arthur himself had a look of complete alarm on his face and was frozen where he stood.

No. _No_. Merlin could _not_ watch Arthur get run over by a double-decker bus, of all things. It was like déjà vu; thoughts and memories flooding into Merlin’s mind, terrifying him and no, this could not happen again. Without a second thought he flung his arm out, feeling his eyes burn—

Time stopped.

It wasn’t the first time Merlin had _stopped_ time, but never had Merlin used it to save someone’s life. He’d been too young, too panicked, too _useless_ before, and that thought haunted him most days, that maybe he could have. Merlin had no real way of knowing how long it would last, so he ran out to where Arthur was, grabbed underneath Arthur’s arms, and pulled back _hard_.

Merlin didn’t like stopping time; it was unnerving, to be the only person moving, breathing, to feel the air grow stale around him, and he tried to avoid doing it as much as possible. So it was with great relief that he allowed time to flow again, and immediately he sagged under Arthur’s weight as the man flailed. The two of them tumbled down next to the sidewalk right as the bus reached where Arthur had been standing just moments before.

Merlin’s entire body seemed to hurt, from his arse to his front where Arthur’s extra weight was sprawled on top of him, and he thought he was just lucky he hadn’t hit his head on the ground, too.

But Arthur was _alive_ , and _Merlin_ had been the one to save him, and at the very least, Arthur’s life wouldn’t be on his conscience as well.

People swarmed them, asking if they were okay. Some commented on how brave Merlin was, to have pulled Arthur out of the way; others were more sceptical, wondering where on earth Merlin had even come from, because they hadn’t seen him before he appeared out of nowhere. Merlin, while dazed, still began to feel a burgeoning sense of panic beneath the surface at those ponderings.

His magic was a secret, and while no one had actually _seen_ him use it, it didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t exactly been subtle with it when saving Arthur’s life.

Merlin didn’t really know what to say, but it seemed Arthur, despite his near-death experience, had a far quicker recovery time. He scrambled up and away from Merlin, glaring at the people around them.

“Shove off, all of you! He just saved my _life_ , don’t crowd around. He needs _breathing room_ or something, you nosy pricks.”

Wow, Merlin thought. Arthur’s temper hadn’t really improved despite what had just happened—just as rude as ever. But considering Merlin _did_ feel like the surrounding crowd was trying to suffocate him, he could appreciate Arthur’s rudeness in that moment.

The crowd, it seemed, was indeed offended by Arthur’s words, and they began dispersing soon enough, with mutters and glares of their own as they immediately began gossiping with their neighbours. Arthur paid them no mind as he turned to look at Merlin, still sprawled out on the ground.

“You all right there?” he asked, extending a hand for Merlin to take.

Merlin did so almost out of shock from being offered a hand at all, and Arthur hauled Merlin to his feet with seemingly no effort. He gave Merlin a once-over, as if to assure himself that Merlin was in fact fine, and Merlin blinked, feeling awkward and wondering why Arthur hadn’t let go of his hand yet.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit sore from the landing, is all.”

Arthur had a look of concern, and Merlin was almost staggered when it didn’t fade. Instead, a softer look entered Arthur’s eyes, and he smiled tentatively at Merlin.

“Thanks for um, saving me,” he said, almost stumbling over the words as if he was not used to having to thank people.

Knowing Arthur as he did—which really, wasn’t well at all, but from what he’d _seen_ —Merlin wasn’t surprised. And while some people thought Merlin far too modest and terrible at taking credit for things he had done, Merlin would never have passed _this_ chance up. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, because yeah, he’d _saved Arthur’s life_ , and that was kind of a big deal. Maybe Arthur wouldn’t be such a prat to him now. Arthur in fact hadn’t directed any of his prattish tendencies toward Merlin in the time they’d been interacting so far, so that was promising.

For some reason he was _still_ holding Merlin’s hand, though, and Merlin gently but insistently tried to tug his hand back.

Arthur, however, didn’t seem to notice. If anything, it just made him draw Merlin’s hand closer to him as he leaned in. “About what happened...” he began, lowering his voice to ensure that no-one passing by would hear them, “How did you get to me so fast?”

He sounded curious, not accusatory, but Merlin stiffened anyway, and this time he practically yanked his hand out of Arthur’s grip in his desire to get away. Merlin took an uneasy step back, not even remotely wanting to have that conversation.

Unfortunately he’d forgotten the kerb was right behind him. Merlin shouted in alarm as he found himself once again falling backwards—until he wasn’t, he was in the cocoon of Arthur’s arms, the man having pulled him back to safety.

He felt Arthur chuckle into his hair more than he heard him. “Does this make us even?” he asked, sounding almost seductive, and Merlin squirmed, pushing away from Arthur hastily as he once again stepped back—this time making sure he didn’t hit the kerb. He looked at Arthur warily, shaking his head.

“I...have to go,” he said haltingly, turning and fleeing the scene without a moment to waste.

He heard Arthur behind him, calling for him to wait, but that only made Merlin pick up the pace until he was flat out running, determined to stay as far away from Arthur as possible from that point on.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Against his will, Merlin found himself a little put out that Arthur kept his distance as well. He knew, through their few interactions, that Arthur was a stubborn sort who was horrible at taking no for an answer. And yet, Merlin was taking obvious measures to avoid him, and Arthur—while he continued to watch Merlin intently—did not try to approach again.

* * *

Of course it all made sense a week later on his birthday—on a weekend, thankfully; nothing like a birthday present of no uni classes to brighten up the day. Merlin ambled downstairs after a lie-in, and came across one Arthur le Fay sitting in his living room and channel-flipping at random.

“I must say,” Arthur said casually without turning around to look at Merlin, “The television really is a marvellous invention, wouldn’t you say?”

Merlin continued to stand there gaping at him. “What—Where—?”

Arthur finally turned around to glance at Merlin. “Your parents? They went out. Something about gathering things together for you, or some such, why didn’t you tell me today is your birthday?”

Merlin wished he had come downstairs in more than threadbare sleep pants, because this was not a conversation he wanted to be having without a shirt.

“I—” he stammered. “It—never came up,” he finally managed to point out, and Arthur shrugged.

“Fair enough.”

That still left the important question.

“Why are you in my house?”

“I gave you more than enough alone time, so I decided to come visit you. Your parents were already prepared to leave the house, but once I introduced myself as a friend of yours, they were happy to let me stay here while they were out. They thought you would appreciate it, or something.”

“No, I do not appreciate it,” Merlin didn’t hesitate to say.

Arthur sighed and clicked the television off before turning in his seat more fully to look at Merlin head on.

“We need to talk,” he said, and Merlin had a sinking feeling of just what the conversation was going to be about.

“Oh?” he asked, against his better judgement.

“About what happened last week,” Arthur said, and Merlin cursed inwardly, having known that was coming.

“I don’t really think we need to _talk_ about it,” Merlin said almost desperately, trying to divert the conversation. “I saved your life, it was a stroke of luck, let’s leave it at that.”

But Arthur was frowning, lips pursed as he furrowed his brow, thinking it over before shaking his head back and forth slowly. “No...” he said, and Merlin felt himself growing more pale than usual.

“It wasn’t luck,” Arthur declared, voice confident. “You weren’t anywhere near me, when that beast was coming toward me—” and if the topic wasn’t so serious, Merlin would have laughed at the fact that Arthur was calling the bus a _beast_ , “ —and then suddenly, out of nowhere, you were _right there_.”

Merlin refused to let the words affect him anymore than they already had. “Maybe I’m just a fast runner,” he argued.

Arthur, however, would hear none of it.

“Merlin,” he said, firmly, and against his will Merlin fell silent. Arthur fixed his piercing gaze upon him, and then solemnly added: “I know.”

Merlin backed away abruptly, shaking his head furiously. He only stopped when he accidentally walked into the kitchen table and winced.

“No,” Merlin babbled. “No, you can’t know, no one knows, only my parents—”

Arthur cut him off.

“It’s magic,” he said, and Merlin visibly flinched away from the words, as if they had caused him physical injury, but Arthur persisted. “I _know_.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, horrified that Arthur, an almost perfect stranger, had managed to find out his secret within a few weeks when Merlin had managed to keep it from everyone he knew bar three people—now four—his entire life.

Arthur, it seemed, knew exactly where his mind was going with the revelation, and Merlin heard him get up from the couch, walking over to where Merlin stood. “It’s not you, Merlin,” he said, voice surprisingly soft, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look at Arthur, even as he felt the other man’s breath fanning over his face.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Arthur all but whispered.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin wasn’t sure what exactly had compelled him to come with Arthur out to Kensington Gardens, but there the two of them sat, overlooking The Long Water. Arthur hadn’t said much since Merlin had changed into more appropriate clothing and the two of them had left the house, but all Merlin knew was, he _didn’t_ know this man, not really, and yet Arthur had figured the truth about his magic and wanted to show him something. Merlin really, really didn’t know what it was, but something about Arthur was vastly compelling, when he wasn’t being a complete and utter prat, anyway. Sometimes even then.

That didn’t explain why they were staring out at the lake like it held the answer to life. Well, Arthur was. Merlin was more staring at Arthur in a rather nonplussed fashion.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for awhile, until Arthur, still looking out at the lake, finally broke it.

“Magic _is_ real, Merlin,” he said. Merlin didn’t have much to say to that because _obviously_ , or he wouldn’t have it in the first place. Even if he was some sort of genetic anomaly, or whatever.

“It’s real,” Arthur said again, now turning to look at him, “And where I come from, a fair amount of people have the gift.”

Merlin blinked once.

Twice.

He could feel his hopes rising at the words, even though a larger part of him couldn’t believe them so easily. Merlin had spent far too many years of his life looking for others like him, to no avail, and here Arthur was telling him that others in fact did exist.

So it was with a healthy amount of scepticism that Merlin responded.

“Where you’re from? Where would that be? Your accent led me to believe you hadn’t moved _that_ far to come to London, but maybe I...”

“Camelot,” Arthur said simply, and Merlin knew he probably looked more confused than ever.

“ _Camelot_?” Merlin parroted back. “What’s that? _Where_ is that? I’ve never heard of a place called Camelot, not that I’m admitting to be some sort of expert geographer...” but really, if people who had magic were relatively common in this Camelot, Merlin thought at least _some_ results on it would have come up in his numerous internet searches.

Of course, then Arthur’s next words floored him completely.

“It’s not here. Not in London, or anywhere else in the world. It’s not even on Earth.”

Merlin just stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re trying to tell me that there are other worlds out there?”

A saner person probably would have walked away, and possibly called someone to have Arthur committed. But Merlin had magic, of all the bloody things to have, and he’d learned to give things the benefit of the doubt. No matter how absolutely crazy they might sound.

Meanwhile, Arthur was nodding. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say. Well, I don’t know if there are other _worlds_ , I just know the one where I come from, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there _were_ others...”

And Merlin _really_ didn’t want to think about that concept, so he held his hands up in a “stop” gesture.

“Whoa, whoa, okay. So assuming you’re telling the truth—” he ignored Arthur’s sound “ _I am_ ” and continued speaking over him “—how, exactly, did you get here? Unless you can fly, or something, using...” he wiggled his fingers in a “magical” gesture, and Arthur offered him a look like he thought Merlin was simple. Merlin could only shrug in response; he’d been pretty sure Arthur didn’t have magic from the start, but it hadn’t hurt to ask, just in case.

Arthur seemed to understand that; he let it go and simply responded to the question instead.

“Of course I didn’t _fly_ , I don’t have any magic to speak of. I used the lake,” he said, gesturing out to The Long Water, and Merlin did a double-take.

“Wait, so you’re telling me the Serpentine is some sort of _portal_ between Earth and Camelot?” he asked. A part of him couldn’t believe that he was actually _starting_ to believe Arthur, especially when Arthur once again nodded.

“But then,” Merlin said, “People _do_ swim in this lake. And uh, no one’s ever vanished from it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as if he found the question stupid, but Merlin personally thought it was a very logical question, all things considered.

“It doesn’t just activate at random,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly reasonable. “You have to talk to the Lady of the Lake first, and _she_ allows you to pass through.”

By that point Merlin couldn’t simply remain sitting anymore, and he got to his feet. Arthur looked like he wanted to as well, in case he needed to stop Merlin from running away, but Merlin had no intention of even thinking about running until he had everything sorted out in his head.

“So you’re also telling me that a _lady_ lives in this lake and helps transport people back and forth?”

Arthur seemed to debate over that question for a few moments, tilting his head to the side. “Well, it’s not like it’s a frequent thing. I was probably the first person to do so in a very, very long time. And she’s not an _actual_ lady, per se, she’s more like...a water nymph.”

Merlin stared. “A water nymph.”

Arthur looked offended. “It’s not like I know _exactly_ what she is. I just went with the best comparison.”

Merlin’s brain processed the information, and with a sigh he ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, so let’s say I believe you—” Arthur brightened, and Merlin was quick to correct that “—don’t look so happy, I said let’s _say_ I believe you, not that I do yet.”

Arthur immediately began pouting instead, and Merlin had to fight not to laugh out loud before he continued. “So, saying I believe you,” he repeated, trying to ignore Arthur, “I mean...why tell _me_ this? You said you had something to show me, but...”

He trailed off, and Arthur walked over to Merlin and placed a hand on his shoulder as he offered him an almost shy smile. “Well, I thought that—” he paused, an unsure look crossing his features before he finally nodded to himself, as if he’d made up his mind.

“I thought that maybe,” he resumed, “You might want to see Camelot?”

“ _What?_ ” Merlin asked, his mind going blank at the offer. Arthur continued speaking, quickly now, obviously somewhat flustered.

“I think you’d like it. After all, it has magic, just like you.”

Merlin wasn’t really sure what to think. Of course Arthur was right, Merlin _did_ want to see it, wanted to see this other magical—literally!—world, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Not that it ever was.

“But my parents...”

“You can come back whenever you want!” Arthur assured him. “It’s not like you’d be stuck there.”

Merlin considered it.

“So what, you’re Peter Pan and I’m Wendy and you expect me to just run away with you to Neverland without thinking of the consequences?”

Arthur tilted his head to the side in confusion, and Merlin sighed. “Never mind.”

 _Of course he wouldn’t get any Earth references_ , Merlin thought to himself. In fact, it rather explained a lot of things Arthur didn’t get. Like _coffee_.

Arthur was biting at his lip, and Merlin was decidedly not watching the way those crooked teeth touched those plump lips. “It’s just—Merlin, you don’t really _belong_ here, do you?” he asked.

The question itself would have been rude coming from anyone but Arthur, but then, no one else actually knew how true of a statement it was. Merlin had _never_ felt like he belonged, and Arthur somehow knew that.

“Don’t you want to belong somewhere for once?” Arthur asked, in earnest now. “Even just temporarily, where you don’t have to hide who you are, where people accept your magic?”

And honestly, Merlin couldn’t argue with that.

“Lead the way then, Peter.”

“I still don’t know what you mean by that.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Before Merlin could even think to change his mind, he found himself standing knee deep in the lake next to Arthur, and all Merlin could do was hope that no one walked by and witnessed it. He’d tried to tell Arthur that they weren’t allowed to just walk into the water like that, but Arthur had shot him a _look_ and Merlin had given up. Arthur had probably originally walked right out of the lake in the first place anyway.

They continued to stand there, and after ten minutes Merlin was ready to give it up as a lost cause; that Arthur was, in fact, crazy. He was all set to just turn around and walk out—but then the feeling of magic suddenly washed over him, hitting him like a shockwave.

Merlin managed to stay standing, if only just, and noticed with envy that Arthur didn’t seem affected in the slightest. But, Merlin realised abruptly, Arthur wasn’t magic and wouldn’t have been able to sense it in the first place, and he found he didn’t actually envy Arthur at all.

What had that been, though? He looked around, blinking as he noticed that their surroundings were frozen in time.

“Peter, what—”

“Stop calling me that, and be quiet,” Arthur said, not looking at all bothered by the fact that time had stopped.

That’s when Merlin noticed that the water just a short distance away from them was rippling, and then slowly, silently, a figure emerged from the water, walking— _gliding_ toward them with a soft smile, and _oh_ , this was the Lady of the Lake, Merlin realised.

When Arthur had called her a water nymph, Merlin had thought she’d look more...like a nymph, more unnatural, but to his wonder she looked fairly human, albeit with a strange, dreamlike beauty about her.

Despite living in the lake, the water did not seem to touch her skin; her hair was long, chestnut-coloured, soft-looking, accompanied by warm brown doe-eyes. Her smile did not fade, even as she stood before the two of them. She was clothed in a rather ragged red dress, but she wore it elegantly; like a princess, Merlin thought.

Her gaze drifted to Arthur.

“Arthur,” she greeted him.

Arthur bowed his head in response. “My Lady.”

She then turned her attention to Merlin, and her smile widened ever so slightly.

“Hello, Merlin.”

It took almost all of Merlin’s willpower not to gape at her. “You know me?”

She laughed, softly. “Of course. I can always sense people of magic.”

“Oh, I see...” Merlin trailed off, unsure of what exactly to call her, if he should say “my Lady” like Arthur had, but the Lady of the Lake took that out of his hands for him by speaking once more.

“You may call me Freya.”

Merlin felt himself blushing. “Um, all right, Freya.”

To the side, he could practically _feel_ Arthur’s desire to roll his eyes, but of course Arthur would never be so crass as to do so in front of someone so obviously respected. It seemed Freya could sense Arthur’s impatience, however, and she offered him another smile, this one more apologetic.

“To Camelot, then?” she asked kindly, and Arthur nodded almost stiffly.

Freya made a soft sound of assent, and then she dipped her fingers into the water, dragging her hand through it gently. To Merlin’s astonishment the water swirled around he and Arthur, until it finally rose up into a dome. He was about to go to _another world_ , he realised, with a startling sense of clarity.

Merlin expected it to crash on top of them, but instead it merely remained, and after several long moments it abruptly splashed down around them. Merlin stared.

They were still standing in the lake—and though they were facing away from the shore, their surroundings were different, Merlin could already tell. He glanced over at Arthur, and blinked as he noticed the change of clothes.

Before, Arthur had been wearing a red shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged his arse perfectly. Not that Merlin had been staring or anything. Now, Arthur was clothed in a simple red tunic and brown breeches.

Despite the fact that the two of them were standing knee deep in water, Merlin found that he wasn’t wet at all, and knew he had Freya to thank for that.

Arthur was more than ready to leave the lake, and he turned and walked toward the shore, revealing that he wore dark brown shin length boots, as well. Merlin, however, did not move, except to turn around as his gaze followed Arthur. Arthur stood impatiently on the shore.

“Well, come on, Merlin!” he all-but demanded, and Merlin tilted his head to the side.

“Oh, right,” he said, making his way out of the lake as well, and only then did he look down at himself. “What—my clothes!”

Arthur did roll his eyes, that time. “Well, of course. These blend in _much_ better than your strange Earth clothes would have.”

Merlin continued surveying his own outfit. Brown boots—closer to his ankle, not shin—a blue tunic, a brown jacket, and almost absurdly, a red neckerchief. Merlin wondered if Freya had decided it was a good substitute for the scarf he’d been wearing, for who else could have changed their clothes but her?

But then Arthur’s words finally sunk in, and Merlin looked up at him, somewhat offended.

“Hey, what’s wrong with Earth clothes?”

“They are vastly uncomfortable, for one.”

“Like these are so much better,” Merlin muttered under his breath, loud enough for Arthur to hear.

For once Arthur played the better man and pretended as if he had not heard Merlin. “Regardless,” he said, speaking louder than strictly necessary, “If you would stop fussing over your clothing and pay more attention to everything else...”

“Hmm?” Merlin asked, watching as Arthur gestured away from the lake. Merlin’s gaze followed the action without thinking, and froze.

They were standing before a _forest_ and if Merlin wasn’t crazy that was possibly a castle in the distance, maybe, and clearly Camelot wasn’t just in a different world but a different _time_.

“Holy shit,” Merlin breathed.

“Welcome to Camelot,” Arthur said, sounding smug.

Best. Birthday present. Ever.

* * *

Unfortunately, the glowing feeling didn’t last for very long.

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Arthur said.

That snapped Merlin right out of his awe. “What?” he asked.

Arthur ignored him, stepping into the trees. Merlin was left standing there, unsure if he was supposed to follow or not. Arthur hadn’t told him to, and he wouldn’t really leave Merlin behind, right?

He was proved correct when Arthur came back out of the trees, now leading two horses behind him.

“Can you ride?” Arthur asked.

“Uh...”

“No matter,” Arthur said briskly. “Once you’re on the horse, it’ll know what to do. Just be sure to hold the reins and sit quietly.”

Merlin approached the horse Arthur held the reins out for tentatively. The animal barely reacted, standing there patiently. “You kept them here all this time?” Merlin asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said, “The Lady of the Lake looked after them.”

“She must care a lot. She’s so nice, and sweet,” Merlin said.

“Right,” Arthur deadpanned. “How about you just get on the horse so we can go?”

Merlin shot him a look. “Fine, sorry for making conversation, Peter.”

Arthur scoffed. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” he asked as he placed his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself onto his horse. “My name isn’t Peter,” he continued once he was settled.

“Nope, you’re Peter,” Merlin chuckled, attempting to follow Arthur’s lead to get on the horse. Unfortunately, he couldn’t lift his other leg high enough to swing over, and Merlin was left hopping awkwardly as he stepped back down onto the ground.

 _Well, that sure looks easier than it is,_ Merlin thought to himself. Apparently the horse he was trying to mount had patience beyond belief, for it continued to stand there, not even bothered as Merlin flailed around trying to get his leg over once more.

After several more failures, he heard Arthur let out an irritated sigh, and Merlin’s head snapped up. He blinked in disbelief at the sight of Arthur getting off his own horse and approaching him. “You really are terrible at this,” Arthur said.

“Gee, thanks,” Merlin muttered, “I think I got that part.”

“Come on,” Arthur said, making a basket out of his hands. “Put your knee here, and grab the front of the saddle. Haul yourself up as you jump.”

Merlin did as instructed, and then gasped, startled, as Arthur hefted his knee up, allowing Merlin to slide into the saddle easily.

“There,” Arthur said once Merlin was fully seated. “Make sure to sit up straight. You steer with your thighs, not the reins. And try not to fall off. Idiot.”

He walked off to get back on his own horse, and Merlin was left squeezing the reins and wondering if he’d made the right decision, going along with Arthur. It was too late for regrets, though, and so as Arthur tapped the sides of his horse gently, Merlin mimicked him, and off they went.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

It had been almost an hour, and the ride had been near silent thus far. It might have bothered Merlin, but he was a bit too busy taking in the sights around him to really care about the silence. But eventually, he admitted that all of the forest started to look relatively the same after awhile, and by that point Merlin was faced with the simple truth: Riding a horse was _very_ uncomfortable.

Merlin knew it was simply because he’d never ridden one before, but no matter how much he shifted—what Arthur had said about sitting quietly be damned—he couldn’t seem to find a good seat.

The horse didn’t seem to care one way or the other. It just followed after Arthur’s horse obediently, leaving Merlin to wonder how badly he would chafe in the end. It didn’t help that his clothes were made of an entirely different material than he was used to.

In addition, the silence that hadn’t really bothered him at first was starting to become almost unbearable. Merlin needed _some_ sort of distraction from the pain he was feeling in his lower half. Since it didn’t seem like Arthur was going to be making any effort to break the quiet, Merlin took it upon himself to do so.

“So...where are we going exactly?” he called over the sound of hooves beating against the ground.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Merlin laughed almost on reflex at the cultural reference, but when Arthur didn’t laugh in return—even the back of his head looked serious, if that was even possible—Merlin suddenly remembered that Arthur didn’t _know_ any cultural references, and that thought sobered him up very quickly.

“Okay then, never mind.”

“I thought I told you to sit quietly,” Arthur said.

“Yes, well, that gets very _boring_ after awhile,” Merlin retorted.

Arthur turned to shoot him a glare, but he didn’t rise to the bait, and silence once again settled over them. It wasn’t the awkward silence from before, either—now the air was tense and Merlin couldn’t figure out what had changed.

Everything had been just fine when Arthur first arrived at Merlin’s house, and they’d gotten on pretty well, or as well as they could get on with Merlin freaking out that Arthur knew about his magic. But maybe he’d been wrong. Arthur seemed to have reverted back to the person he’d been when they’d first spoken: Rude, haughty, temperamental, and impatient, but even worse was the fact that he seemed _cold_ , and somewhat distant.

After a few more failed attempts to draw Arthur into a conversation, Merlin eventually stopped trying and kept to himself.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

It had been _hours_ , but Merlin couldn’t even begin to guesstimate how many. His entire body felt like it was screaming at him in pain, but Merlin wasn’t willing to ask Arthur if they could take a break. He knew Arthur would just make a derogatory comment and reject the suggestion anyway.

Eventually, though, Arthur’s horse came to a stop, and Merlin scrambled to tug on the reins lightly to ensure his own horse stopped as well.

“We’re nearly there,” Arthur said in a low voice. “Don’t...” he faltered for a moment, “Just don’t be an idiot.”

Before Merlin could get offended, Arthur had urged his horse forward, and Merlin was forced to once again follow along after him as they finally emerged from the woods.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed, taking in the sight of a village just down the hill and a few hundred paces from where they were.

But Arthur didn’t give him much time to take in the view as he surged forward—as usual—and Merlin sighed, wondering if there would ever be a time during his stay there when he wasn’t going to be chasing after Arthur.

Sadly, he didn’t think so.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

On the outskirts of the village, they were met by a man holding a bundle of blue fabric. He wore a hood, but when he looked up Merlin could see that burns covered half of his face.

Merlin could only stare at him in awe. Not because of his scars, horrific though they were, but because he could sense what he’d never sensed in another person on Earth. He could sense his _magic_ , there beneath the surface, and it was all so completely unreal to him. He even forgot about the pain he was in for a moment.

“Arthur, good to see you back,” the man said smoothly.

“Edwin,” Arthur responded in greeting as he dismounted. He held his hand out, and Edwin passed the fabric over to him. It was only when Arthur shook it out and donned it that Merlin realised it was something similar to Edwin’s own wear: A cape of sorts with a hood.

Though still shocked that he was able to sense Edwin’s magic, not even Merlin could keep quiet at that. “A disguise?” he asked sceptically, not sure why they were trying to hide their faces in the first place. Honestly, Merlin thought Arthur stood out a bit too much to really be _disguised_ by such a thing.

“I’m afraid I don’t have one for you,” Edwin said. Merlin couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“I think I’ll survive,” Merlin said. He would have loved to talk to Edwin about his magic, but more than anything, Merlin wanted to get back on the ground. His legs ached, and he was afraid if he tried, he’d just end up falling off the horse.

“And you are...?” Edwin asked.

“Merlin, I’m Merlin,” he said, and Edwin smiled, though it looked more like a smirk.

“Would you like some help, Merlin?”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. “Please.”

With Edwin’s help, he managed to dismount, even as Arthur stood there muttering and looking annoyed. Merlin ignored him; his legs were wobbly and he wouldn’t be able to walk without pain, but at least he was off the horse.

Edwin took the reins of both horses. “Follow me,” he said, but to Merlin’s confusion they didn’t simply walk into the village. Instead, they walked around it until they came across a rather dilapidated looking door, nearly hidden away out of sight.

Merlin was utterly baffled. Disguises, and refusing to take the front entrance—Merlin didn’t know what kind of people he was dealing with, but he had a sinking feeling they weren’t exactly upstanding citizens.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Turned out, a lot more than he’d bargained for.

“You’re what.”

“A rebel faction,” Arthur repeated, having abandoned his—in Merlin’s opinion—shoddy disguise, “Or at least something similar.”

Edwin had left to take their horses to the stables, and Merlin was left standing in an abandoned house with one Arthur le Fay, being informed of things he’d never really had an interest in knowing.

“Do I even want to know what you’re fighting?” He kept going before Arthur could respond. “No, don’t tell me, because it doesn’t concern me. The real question is, why did you bother bringing me here at all? I’m not going to fight your battles for you. I don’t even _like_ fighting. I came because you offered to show me Camelot—not join a group of rebels.”

Arthur had the grace to look ashamed. Somewhat. At least, maybe a little. If Merlin squinted.

“Well, that explains the disguises at least,” Merlin mused. “I’ll stay for now,” he decided, “But don’t think you can get me to join up. Remember, I do plan on going home eventually.”

Arthur frowned, and Merlin was afraid they were going to end up arguing over this, but instead found himself relieved when Arthur nodded.

“Fine,” Arthur said, “But we don’t exactly just sit around. We have things to do—people to recruit, information to gather.”

That gave Merlin pause. “You said I could go home whenever I want.”

Arthur smirked, and Merlin just knew that face didn’t mean anything good. “You can,” Arthur agreed, “But you’ll need the lake to do that, and unless you know your way back to it from here, you won’t be seeing it again until _I_ take you back there.”

Merlin seethed. In all his years he’d never once felt the desire to punch someone in the face, and then along came Arthur and practically made it Merlin’s goal. But Merlin could be the better man, here. Instead, he turned around, heading for the door angrily.

“Don’t go too far,” Arthur called after him, sounding unrepentant. “The villagers might not know your face, but if you cause a scene I’ll ensure that it doesn’t end well for you.”

Merlin stormed out, wanting to slam the door behind him, but the building was so rundown and the door barely hanging from its hinges that he was afraid it would break if he did. He settled for squeezing his hands into fists.

It wasn’t nearly satisfying enough.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin managed to calm down some as he walked around the village, making sure to keep his head down. Of course, he was angry that Arthur had tricked him and was apparently holding him _hostage_ , but there didn’t seem to be any point in sitting around crying about it.

The fact was, he was in Camelot. For how long, he didn’t know, but Merlin remembered his feelings from when he’d first laid eyes on it, and Merlin wasn’t a fool. He was going to take full advantage of the fact that he was in another bloody world. He still wasn’t really over it.

So long as he didn’t have to fight—violence _really_ wasn’t his thing—and Arthur did eventually take him home, Merlin figured he may as well make do with what he had.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Merlin ended up bumping into someone. Arthur’s threat hung heavy in his mind, though Merlin wasn’t sure if this counted as causing a scene, but he relaxed when he saw it was only Edwin.

Until he remembered that Edwin was obviously part of Arthur’s rebel faction _thing_ , or whatever it was.

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin held up his hand to stop him. “No, I don’t want to hear anything about your group, or what you’re planning, or why we’re even at this place.”

Edwin inclined his head. “Very well,” he practically purred, “But I was actually only going to tell you it’s getting late and that you should head back inside to get some sleep tonight.”

Only then did Merlin realise that it was closer to sunset than not. “Oh,” he said, feeling embarrassed, but he didn’t move, because—

“Would you like me to show you the way?” Edwin offered.

Merlin couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Please.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Arthur was staring out the window when they got back. “I’ve sent word to the others. If they’ve done as they’re supposed to, they should be here tomorrow,” he said.

Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur was talking to him or Edwin, and even though he’d already said he didn’t want to know anything, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Others?”

Arthur glanced back at him almost disdainfully. “Nothing you need concern yourself with. You’ve already stated you want nothing to do with this, and thus, I have no obligation to tell you.”

Merlin bit back a scathing reply, because Arthur was right, for once. Arthur directed his attention to Edwin, standing quietly.

“Have there been any further movements in the time I’ve been away?”

Edwin glanced at Merlin, who was now watching them with more interest than he should have.

“Perhaps we should discuss this...outside,” Edwin offered.

Arthur glanced at Merlin as well, and Merlin fought not to bristle. “Yes, of course,” Arthur said.

The two of them left, and Merlin grit his teeth. He had brought this one on himself by refusing to join. Of course they weren’t going to discuss...whatever they were discussing in front of him. And Merlin, especially, knew the importance of keeping a secret.

“Oh Will, I’ve really done it now,” he said quietly.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The village was called Greenswood, Merlin learned, and it was one of many villages in the kingdom. A _kingdom_ , Merlin thought, that Arthur and the rest of his rebel people, or what have you, were fighting to free.

At least, that was what Merlin gathered from their hushed discussions. He didn’t know what exactly they were fighting to free the kingdom _from_ , because he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop in the first place, but Merlin wasn’t stupid. He knew something was rotten in the state of Camelot.

Sadly, no one else had gotten the joke.

Then again, it wasn’t really a matter to be joking about in the first place.

The villagers of Greenswood—that was, the ones not part of Arthur’s group of rebels—were obviously frightened of something. Perhaps there was an oppressive Lord or a tyrant King taxing them beyond belief?

But that would make Arthur and the others more like Robin Hood and his Merry Men, and Arthur didn’t exactly strike Merlin as the type to steal from the rich and give to the poor. No, Arthur was firmly rooted as Peter Pan in Merlin’s mind.

Arthur seemed almost anxious to leave the village, but no matter how impatient he obviously was, apparently Arthur was going to wait for whoever he had sent word to. The “others” he would not tell Merlin about.

Merlin figured out just who they were in the early evening. Arthur and Edwin went to go meet them on the outskirts of the village as Edwin had done for he and Arthur, and one-by-one they entered the ramshackle house.

The first two were men; both built like trees, or at least that was what it seemed like, and with intimidating faces. Merlin was sure not to draw attention to himself, and they didn’t acknowledge him either.

The next was a woman, dark-skinned and pretty. She offered Merlin a smile, but he was pretty sure his face twitched in response given the way her smile fell and she looked away from him.

After her was a man, even darker skinned than she was. He ignored Merlin completely, instead approaching the woman and speaking to her quietly. Merlin was too far away to hear what was being said.

The four of them were obviously at all ease with each other, and when Arthur once again entered the house—with a beautiful woman in tow, pale-skinned and brimming with magic—they immediately smiled. Merlin found himself a bit taken aback by the fact that they seemed so happy to see Arthur.

One of the two tree-men, the one with curly hair, walked over to Arthur, clapping him on the shoulder. Merlin assumed the greeting was because there likely hadn’t been time for any real interactions on the outskirts of the village.

Arthur nodded at him, and then turned to the woman standing next to him before he gestured abruptly at Merlin. “Introduce him to everyone,” Arthur told her almost brusquely before he turned and once again left the house.

 _Way to make a guy feel special, Peter,_ Merlin thought to himself. The woman seemed to feel the same, for she sent a half-glare after Arthur, but then she turned to Merlin with a smile, beckoning him over.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “This is Leon,” she continued, gesturing at the man who was standing next to them.

“Oh, I’m Merlin,” he said, reaching out to shake Leon’s hand and forcing himself not to wince at the man’s extremely firm grip. He failed, if the woman’s widening smile was any hint.

“That’s Percival,” she said, pointing over at the other tree of a man who was standing quietly in a corner of the house. Abandoned though the house was, it was a bit too small for the six of them, especially with someone as large as Percival inside it. “And that’s Gwen and Elyan. We have two other people, Gwaine and Lancelot, but Lancelot split up with us for now to continue scouting and Gwaine, well, he decided to stay at the tavern in Willowdale. And I’m Morgana le Fay.”

Merlin, who had been nodding along as he took all the information in, started upon hearing her surname.

Morgana chuckled, not unkindly.

“I’m Arthur’s sister.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Merlin said automatically, and Morgana’s laughter grew louder in response.

For a moment Merlin had thought that perhaps they were married, or something equally ridiculous considering they didn’t look much alike. He was both surprised and a bit annoyed to find that he was relieved they were only siblings.

It was a bit odd, but Merlin got the feeling that he already fit in better with these people than he ever did with almost anyone on Earth.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

When Arthur returned, Merlin wasn’t happy to learn that they we were planning on leaving the village before sundown.

“But why can’t we just stay here for the night and leave come morning?” he asked.

Arthur offered him a derisive look. “Because, _Merlin_ , do you really think a group of seven can get away with staying here? We don’t have the time to spread out and look for other places to stay in the village. We need to keep moving, so as to not draw attention to ourselves.”

“Let me guess,” Merlin said, “That means we have to travel on foot as well.”

Arthur smirked, as if he drew pleasure from Merlin’s unhappiness. He probably did. “Perhaps you’re smarter than you look.” He turned his attention to Morgana. “Gwaine is in Willowdale, you said?”

She nodded, and Arthur grimaced. “At least he didn’t decide on a place halfway across the kingdom this time,” he said. “Willowdale isn’t far, so we should arrive before sunrise. We’ll get some rest once we arrive, and then check in with Gilli.”

Merlin knew Arthur was telling the others the plan, not him. He also knew that Arthur would probably have preferred if Merlin wasn’t anywhere in the proximity when things like this were discussed. But well, Arthur was practically holding him hostage, so Merlin wasn’t going anywhere. He knew Arthur had brought him here because of his magic, to try and get him to fight, but he couldn’t help wondering why Arthur had been on Earth in the first place. Not that he expected to get an answer if he asked.

They left the house just as they’d entered; one-by-one, mostly, with the occasionally pairs. It was only once they were already walking to their next destination that Merlin turned back to look at the village.

“What about Edwin?” Merlin asked.

Arthur ignored him, so Morgana stepped in with an easy smile. “Edwin stays in Greenswood to keep an eye on it, report if anything has changed. We have someone like that in every village.”

Merlin blinked in surprise. “ _Every_ village?”

“Well, most villages in Camelot, anyway.”

Merlin wasn’t sure how many villages that was, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. It was obvious Arthur and his “rebel faction” had quite a number of people stored away waiting for the right moment, and that thought alone was rather intimidating. What made it more so was the fact that Merlin didn’t know what said moment was.

The seven of them remained mostly spread out as they walked; travelling in a large group without even a single horse was just as suspicious, apparently. And since Merlin was “new” to the group—telling them he wasn’t actually part of the group would help nothing, and Arthur would probably kill him—he was shuffled around quite often on the journey between Greenswood and Willowdale.

It was convenient in a way though, because it gave Merlin the chance to gauge all these people properly, to decide who he thought would be easiest to talk to, or who he should avoid entirely.

At the top of the avoid list was Arthur, because Arthur obviously didn’t like him very much. Once he’d gotten Merlin into Camelot, and then _especially_ after Merlin had refused to help fight for him, his personality had changed, and as tempting as it was to antagonise Arthur, Merlin didn’t want to make a _real_ enemy.

Morgana, on the other hand, was interesting, especially with her magic. But when Merlin had walked with the two of them he’d gotten the feeling that they were having a bit of a cold war at the present time. As much as Merlin would have loved to talk to her about her magic, he didn’t really want to get in the middle of it.

Percival seemed very kind and rather polite, but he was so _big_ and _intimidating_ that Merlin found himself overcome by a rare bout of shyness every time they walked together, and was thus afraid to talk to him. Leon was nice, but he seemed a bit uptight, and occasionally chagrined by some of the antics of the others, as if he was their father, not their friend.

Elyan, Merlin learned, was extremely easy to make conversation with; he was always happy to make small talk with Merlin. Merlin knew that was helped along by the fact that as he walked with the siblings, he was becoming fast friends with Gwen. Gwen was _wonderful_ and Merlin was more than happy to dub her his new best friend on the spot.

He wouldn’t, of course; that spot was reserved for Will, and always would be, but Gwen definitely came in second.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

They arrived at Willowdale while it was still dark out, as Arthur had said they should. No one was there to greet them, and Merlin remembered that Arthur had said they would check in with—Gilli, he thought it was—in the morning instead.

“Remember,” Arthur said, and Merlin distinctively got the feeling that Arthur was saying this more for his benefit than anyone else’s, “Don’t draw attention. We split up here, and go to Gilli at mid-morning. If we’re lucky we’ll have found Gwaine before then.”

Arthur looked around at them. “You know what to do from here. Elyan, with Gwen. Percival, you’re with Leon. Merlin, you’re with Morgana and I.”

The group of them nodded, and slowly they began drifting apart as they made their way through Willowdale. Either because of the time of day or the fact that they were all separating, the house Merlin found himself staying in was quite a bit nicer than the one in Greenswood.

Splitting them into groups to sleep for the night was rather clever, Merlin reluctantly conceded, but he wished he’d been able to go into a different group rather than being stuck with Arthur. At least with Morgana there he wouldn’t have to worry about Arthur possibly killing him in his sleep. Not that he thought that would really happen. Probably.

There was only one bed in the house, which Arthur had graciously given to Morgana, all the while glaring daggers at Merlin, as if he _dared_ Merlin to try and claim it for his own. Now there was an overprotective brother, Merlin thought.

But he was staggered when Arthur actually offered him a chair to sleep in, rather than being stuck on the floor. One look at the rickety wooden chair, however, had Merlin shaking his head.

“I’m fine on the floor, thanks.”

Arthur frowned at that, and Merlin wondered if the chair was actually cursed and Arthur had wanted to get rid of him as efficiently as possible. _Okay, Howden, now you’re being ridiculous._ Still, when Arthur didn’t take the chair either, Merlin couldn’t help but wonder.

Merlin curled up on the floor, shifting around as he tried to get comfortable. He could hear Morgana and Arthur talking quietly on the other side of the house. Not that the house was truly big enough for there to be an “other side.” He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but it was hard _not_ to overhear given the space of their quarters.

“They’re getting closer, Edwin said?” Morgana asked.

“Yes,” Arthur murmured. “They probably don’t even realise just how close.”

“We’re safe here. I’ve Seen that much,” Morgana said, which made _no_ sense to Merlin, but he wasn’t going to interrupt their conversation to ask. “As for beyond this place, I couldn’t say.”

There was no response for a long moment. “Come, we should get some rest,” Arthur finally said instead.

They didn’t speak after that, and Merlin took that as his cue to try and sleep.

He was just starting to drift off to sleep when the sound of the door opening jerked him to attention. He was exhausted, closer to sleep than not, and neither Arthur nor Morgana seemed to be reacting, even though they had surely heard it, so Merlin forced himself to relax even as the sound of footsteps made their way across the floor.

Merlin was sure, if they weren’t supposed to be in there, Arthur and Morgana would definitely have done something by now. Naturally, though, right as he managed to calm down, someone stepped on him.

“Holy shit!” Merlin shrieked, scrambling to his feet immediately, chest heaving. The sound of a thud and unfamiliar laughter reached his ears.

Immediately Arthur and Morgana were on their feet, and Merlin made a muffled noise of outrage when Arthur placed a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, the both of you!” he hissed. “The point is to _not_ draw attention to ourselves, not scream and bray until the whole village knows we’re here.”

Merlin wanted to protest that, because he had _not_ screamed, but at the same time he thought he had been completely within reason to freak out. It had been terrifying, okay? First a stranger had entered the house, and then he’d been stepped on, which he had _not_ been expecting, accidentally or otherwise. He couldn’t say anything either way—Arthur’s hand was still covering his mouth.

He pulled Arthur’s hand away, and thankfully Arthur didn’t fight it, though he didn’t move away, either. Merlin ignored him, his gaze searching out the direction of the laughter. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could see a man sitting on his arse and still laughing like an idiot, though the noise was at least much quieter than it had been at first.

“Can’t say I expected that,” the man finally said once his laughter had petered out. This had to be Gwaine, Merlin figured. Even if Morgana hadn’t told him that Gwaine was at the tavern prior, Merlin would have come to that conclusion himself: The man smelled like a bar even from where Merlin stood.

As he continued to look at Gwaine, Merlin could practically _feel_ the nasty looks Arthur was shooting in their general direction. He wasn’t sure who it was directed at, and that thought didn’t make him very happy. Morgana seemed to be taking the entire situation in stride, and Merlin realised that Gwaine’s antics weren’t anything new.

“So who’s this then?” Gwaine asked as he squinted up at Merlin.

“I’m Merlin.”

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, Merlin. Sorry for stepping on you—can’t say I was expecting anyone to be there.”

Merlin smiled. “It’s all right,” he said, but before he could say anything more Arthur stepped in.

“That’s enough, the both of you,” he snapped, “Save it for when the sun’s up. Gwaine, as you can see, we’ve already got three here. Go stay with Percival and Leon.” He walked back over to where he’d been sleeping before Gwaine had come in.

Gwaine shrugged, getting to his feet. “I suppose I’ll find them eventually,” he said, and with that he was stumbling out the door, leaving Merlin to curl up on the floor once again, feeling put out that apparently Arthur was never going to change back from the cold person he’d become again.

* * *

When the group of now eight met up outside where they were to meet Gilli, Gwaine greeted Merlin with a charming smile, to which Arthur made a sound of annoyance. Merlin ignored him, as he had no idea why Arthur was even bothered in the first place. From their brief interaction the night before, Merlin had gotten the impression that Gwaine was loud and boisterous—and something of a drunk, if his tavern exploits were anything to go by.

The conversation with Gilli was brief; most of them, Merlin included, were forced to mill around outside quietly. “So, what’s a place like you doing in a boy like this?” Gwaine asked him suddenly.

Merlin did a double-take. “Are you still drunk?”

“No,” Gwaine said. He paused. “Maybe. Probably.”

Merlin chuckled. “Arthur asked me along,” he told Gwaine, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

Gwaine brightened at that. “Oh, so you’ve joined the rebellion.”

“Well, no,” Merlin said.

“Was he following you?” Gwaine asked, apparently not hearing what Merlin had said, or perhaps just ignoring it. “He does that with people he wants to recruit.”

Merlin tilted his head to the side with a shrug. He’d wondered why Arthur was on Earth, but he’d never really thought beyond that. In truth, Arthur _had_ been following Merlin for weeks. Merlin had assumed Arthur only wanted him because of his magic, but if what Gwaine said was true, had he wanted to recruit Merlin for all that time? Who knew what Arthur was ever thinking? Maybe the magic had just been a bonus.

Before he could say anything more, Arthur stormed out the door with a deep scowl on his face, Leon and Morgana following along after him. Whatever Gilli had told him, it obviously hadn’t been good. Arthur’s gaze landed on the two of them, and his scowl deepened.

“Come on, Gwaine, you and I are going to show Merlin here around a bit.”

If Arthur hadn’t asked Gwaine along, Merlin would honestly have thought that Arthur planned on killing him and disposing of the body with no witnesses around. Unless he wanted Gwaine to help. But Merlin was pretty sure Gwaine wouldn’t help murder him. He probably needed to stop thinking about Arthur killing him.

On the other hand, Merlin was fairly thrilled. He’d never had a genuine tour before; mostly he was forced to follow along after people simply so he didn’t get lost, and this was a chance to get better bearings if he could.

Gwaine, however, was still recovering from his hangover, and groaned.

“I don’t—” Gwaine started.

“No choice in the matter, Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighed and looked over at Merlin for a moment before he nodded slowly.

“Fine then,” he said. “Since I’m a nice person, I’m happy to accompany Merlin anyway.”

Merlin smiled widely at Gwaine, but Arthur didn’t look happy. Then again, Arthur never looked happy, Merlin thought. If his rejection had offended Arthur so much, Merlin wasn’t sure why Arthur refused to take him back home. He just didn’t get it. It seemed his presence was doomed to annoy Arthur for the rest of his stay.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Once the three of them left the village, Arthur led the way, mostly. Obviously, Arthur was the “leader” among them, and as much of a prick as Arthur was, he was a good guide.

“Camelot is actually part of Albion,” Arthur explained. “It’s just one of many kingdoms across the land.”

He also pointed out numerous landmarks, to help Merlin remember the area, “Not that it’ll help much, honestly. We’re likely going to leave by tomorrow, so wherever we go next, it’ll be up to you to memorise the surrounding area and look for notable landmarks. If you get lost, it’s your own fault.”

Whenever Arthur wasn’t offering up information, Gwaine would take the wheel from him, nudging Merlin and pointing out far less factual and often stupid things, like the place where he’d once stolen every single apple from the group and hoarded them for himself, or the time when Arthur had once sleepwalked and they found him hugging _that_ tree—he indicated—the next morning.

They always made Merlin laugh, and Arthur would grit his teeth, practically radiating waves of annoyance.

Since it was the first time Merlin was able to really talk to Gwaine since meeting him, Merlin didn’t hesitate to leap on the chance to finally have a longer conversation with him.

His topic starter—“So, Gwaine, how did you end up joining this rebellion thing?”—was not something he would have asked normally; would have considered rude, but with Gwaine, it was so easy to loosen up and ask open questions without thinking.

Gwaine, shameless as ever, was more than happy to answer the question.

“Met Arthur in a bar fight. It all went downhill from there,” he said with a wink.

Merlin couldn’t help but be amused by that, not that he was surprised. And now that he’d actually spent some actual time with Gwaine, Merlin decided that yes, he liked Gwaine, because Gwaine was charming, and funny, and actually treated Merlin nicely. Unlike Arthur, who was back to being the twat Merlin had first met.

As the tour came to an end and they once again entered Willowdale, Merlin found that he was actually extremely enamoured by the sights of Camelot. It was a beautiful place, almost like a fairy tale.

As it seemed with all things in Merlin’s life, it didn’t last long.

Everyone seemed to be gathering in the centre of the village, for some reason. Arthur gestured for them both to follow after him quietly, obviously wanting to know what was going on. Merlin could sense Morgana’s magic, and Gilli’s as well, so it was likely the others were also there.

Merlin forgot all about that, however, when his gaze landed on the scene before him. Three men were standing on the small platform rise the village had for when someone wanted to make an announcement, or whatever they did in villages.

He was pretty sure these three weren’t going to be announcing anything. One of the men was dressed in chainmail, with a helmet—a guard, Merlin thought. The second had his head covered with a brown hood and wielded an axe—executioner, Merlin realised with a sinking feeling. The third man was kneeling between them, arms bound, the guard keeping a firm hold on him.

“For the crime of magic,” a new voice said, and that was when Merlin realised there was a fourth person, standing a distance away as he watched the proceedings, “I sentence you to die.”

He made a gesture to the executioner, who raised his axe.

When the axe fell, Merlin couldn’t look, but even the sound made him cringe. Someone nearby started crying softly, and the crowd immediately began chattering amongst themselves. About what, Merlin wasn’t sure. He felt sick to his stomach, and he did not fight it when he felt Arthur tugging him away from the area.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The others met up with them once they had found refuge in Gilli’s home, and Merlin immediately sank to the floor, still feeling nauseous. Even if he had not witnessed the beheading, just _knowing_ made Camelot that much darker. There was a man out there, _murdering_ people.

“I’m...sorry you had to see something like that,” Arthur said. It was a stilted apology; his tone was hateful, defensive and guarded, and as Merlin looked at him he couldn’t stop the question from bubbling past his lips.

“Who was that man?”

“Uther Pendragon. _King_ of Camelot. And the reason that man died is because Uther is a _tyrant_ and has made it his life’s mission to execute those who have magic.”

His farfetched guess about a tyrant King had been correct, though it was far beyond something as simple as taxes. Merlin couldn’t even think about that, because his first immediate thought behind the horror of that knowledge was that Arthur had said Merlin wouldn’t _have_ to hide in Camelot. If this man, Uther, ever got hold of Merlin—if he learned he had magic...

His second thought was one of anger. Arthur had obviously lied, solely to try and get Merlin to fight for them. It had backfired, but Merlin couldn’t even bring himself to call Arthur out on it. Genocide wasn’t anything _new_ to him, and Merlin knew that if he was ever placed in a position like Arthur and so many others had been, he would probably have desperately called on anyone to help that he thought could be even remotely useful.

His third thought was on a completely different track as his mind scrambled to catch up. “That man didn’t have magic,” Merlin said, tone listless. “I didn’t sense anything.”

“But someone told Uther he did,” Elyan said, a comforting arm around his sister. “Uther doesn’t care if the claim is true or not—he’ll kill sympathisers, or anyone else he can get his hands on. Those who tell him are rewarded handsomely. _My_ question is why he came _here_. He’s never left Camelot to order executions before. Normally he has them dragged there, instead.”

“It’s getting worse,” Leon said simply.

Merlin found that the more he learned, the more he wanted to know the _why_ behind it all, so almost against his will he asked just that—why was Uther killing those with magic?

They all fell silent at the question, until eventually Gilli spoke up.

“I’m not from the area, so I had to get the story from other people, but it’s a well-known tale, here in Camelot.

“Magic wasn’t always banned, wasn’t always something to be killed over. Uther had a wife, once. Her name was Ygraine, and they were happy—but they could not conceive. They went to a sorceress who helped them achieve what they desired most, but the Queen died in childbirth, and the loss drove Uther mad. It warped his mind, to the point where he blamed anyone with magic.”

Merlin knew that pain, of losing a loved one—knew it better than he cared to admit. He never would have let the loss warp his mind, but at the same time, Merlin could tentatively understand Uther’s own pain.

“What happened to the child?” Merlin asked, his tone soft, subdued.

Before Gilli could answer though, Arthur cut in sharply; coldly.

“Uther blamed it for the death of his wife, and had it killed.”

It was a sad, tragic tale, Merlin thought, but horrific as well; that a man could fall so deep into the depths of insanity to the point of killing his own child. “I pity him,” he murmured.

“I don’t,” Arthur said, voice firm.

“Nor do I,” Gwaine agreed. “In fact, if Uther hadn’t killed his child first, I’d wrap my hands around their neck and strangle them myself. We plan to take Uther down, some day, to save Camelot from his tyranny, and to save the innocents from being slaughtered.”

And there it was—their reason for fighting. Merlin realised then, that it _was_ like a fairy tale—not one of the Disney versions, but like the Grimm fairy tales, both gruesome and beautiful, and though he pitied Uther, he could see where they were coming from.

Sad as the entire affair was, Uther did need to be stopped.

“I...I could help, if you like,” Merlin offered hesitantly.

“I thought you didn’t want to join,” Arthur said. Merlin glared at him. The others all looked surprised, but all Merlin could feel was regret that he’d refused to join in the first place. He still didn’t condone violence, but Arthur had never said he’d have to _kill_ anyone.

“It’s a dangerous undertaking,” Arthur said, eventually.

“Especially for someone like you, with magic,” Gwen added.

“I don’t want people to have to suffer under someone like Uther,” Merlin told them. It was a noble cause, if he thought about it—a chance for Merlin to _do_ something with his life, his magic, that actually made a difference in the world. Even if it was a strange, other world, not similar to Earth in the least.

All of them seemed to be doing some sort of strange communication among themselves while Merlin waited with bated breath. He’d thought that Arthur would have been happy to take him in immediately, but apparently it wasn’t that simple.

In the end, Gwaine grinned and walked over to Merlin.

“All right then,” he said, throwing his arm over Merlin’s shoulder. “Welcome aboard.”

His words immediately sent the others into action; Merlin was practically mobbed as the group surrounded him, hugging him, patting his back, thanking him.

Despite being jostled around to the point where he was pretty sure he could feel his brain rattling about in his skull, Merlin managed to catch the look Morgana sent Arthur, but he had no idea what to make of it, or why.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“I’m going to the Druids,” Morgana said apropos nothing once they’d all finally calmed down, “And I’m bringing Merlin with me.”

Merlin’s head snapped up. “What?” he asked, but it was overshadowed by Arthur’s “The hell he is!”

Morgana levelled Arthur with a look. “You wouldn’t be trying to tell me what I can and cannot do, would you Arthur?”

Arthur faltered. “Of course not, I just don’t think _Merlin_ should be one to take the trip with you.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you have no say in the matter,” Morgana told him. “I’ve always been able to choose who goes with me before, after all.”

Arthur apparently had nothing to say to that, and after a long moment he crossed his arms, a scowl of epic proportions forming on his face. “Fine, he can go,” Arthur grumbled, and Morgana gave him a sweet—and obviously fake—smile.

“That’s so kind of you, brother dear,” and her smile became genuine when Arthur scowled in response.

“We’ll accompany you halfway, to the village of Longstrong,” he said. “Meet us there when you’ve concluded your business, whatever it is. We’ll leave here at first light.”

“Merlin will stay with Gwen and I tonight, then. You can stay with Leon, and Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine can share a room.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to protest again, but Morgana gave him a look, and he kept quiet.

Merlin, who had been watching the two of them go back and forth, was personally a bit lost and had no idea what had just happened, but he knew when to smile and nod. Arthur might have been the leader, but Morgana was definitely second-in-command.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“So,” Merlin said as the three of them settled down for the night, “No one’s really told me about this Lancelot character. What’s he like?”

Unexpectedly, Morgana smiled widely, and Gwen blushed prettily. “Well, he’s—and he—also,” Gwen stammered, which Merlin found rather endearing, and _oh_.

Merlin beamed, understanding Morgana’s reaction now. “Is our Lady fond of Sir Lancelot?” he asked teasingly.

“Yes,” Morgana agreed without hesitation, but Gwen looked almost scandalised. “I’m not a Lady,” she protested, “And he’s not a Knight—though he wants to be, actually, and—”

“Gwen, Gwen,” Merlin cut her off with a laugh, “Calm down, we were only teasing.”

“Isn’t she adorable?” Morgana asked.

Gwen’s blush deepened, but she managed to stop stuttering.

“You do like him, though?” Merlin asked.

Gwen bit at her lip and nodded. “But nothing is going on!” she rushed to say. “Lancelot is far too noble for that, and he would not compromise a woman’s honour unless he was wedded to them.”

“You want to _marry_ Lancelot?”

Merlin knew he should probably feel bad that it was so easy and amusing to get her flustered.

“No—no, I just—well, yes, but that’s not likely to happen given what’s going on. And he’s so often away scouting that I can’t say if he’d ever ask at all.”

She seemed accepting of the fact; perhaps a little sad, but very much so accepting, and Merlin could just _see_ the love she had for Lancelot glowing whenever she spoke. He tilted his head to the side, finding that he was more intrigued by Lancelot than ever. “Would you wait for him?”

Gwen stared at him in bewilderment, “Of course I would!”

Merlin grinned.

“If he feels as you do, and it sounds like he does, he’ll ask, one day.”

“Of course he will,” Morgana said breezily. “I would know.”

Something about that statement nagged at Merlin, but he didn’t bother asking about it as Gwen continued to look flustered. She offered the both of them a shy smile, as if to say she very much hoped so.

* * *

Longstrong wasn’t far from Willowdale, and Merlin wondered who from the rebellion was stationed there. Not that it really mattered; he and Morgana wouldn’t be staying long enough for Merlin to meet them.

He remembered Morgana had said that they had lookouts in most villages, and again, he wondered just how many villages there were in Camelot. It had to be quite a few; he only knew of three, and they were all within relatively close distance. Surely, there were others on the far side of the kingdom. If he thought about it that way, it seemed like Arthur had eyes and ears nearly everywhere.

 _And yet, Peter himself came to get me,_ Merlin mused, _Which he probably regretted immediately._

The moment they reached Longstrong, Merlin blinked as he found himself shuffled off to the stables. Morgana mounted the horse she was given easily, but Merlin grimaced, remembering his last experience with a horse.

Part of him was glad they would get horses, because apparently this journey wasn’t going to be as short as the others, but at the same time, his legs felt sore just thinking about being stuck on a horse for hours on end again.

He didn’t get a say in the matter though—Merlin yelped in surprise when Percival all but lifted him onto the horse. Given the way Arthur laughed, Merlin could guess who had told Percival to do that. But Arthur was the one to help lead his horse out of the stable, and Merlin was torn between being offended and being relieved, because he had no idea how to turn a horse around.

He settled on offended when Arthur began speaking lowly. “If you have any designs on my sister, I will end you, no matter what.”

Merlin had to suppress a snort. He definitely did not have any designs on her. She fascinated Merlin because of her magic, and while she was very beautiful, Merlin had no interest in her that way.

“We’ll be back in a few days,” Morgana told them. Arthur nodded as he released Merlin’s horse, and the group split ways.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The journey itself was uneventful. The two of them were obviously comfortable with each other, and Morgana was much nicer about the horse thing. She knew Merlin wasn’t very experienced with horses, and allowed him to get off and stretch his legs every few hours. It was also helpful, because after a few times Merlin actually felt comfortable with getting back on the horse without help.

Conversation flowed easily between them, ranging from topics like magic: “Arthur told me you stopped time with your magic. You’re far more powerful than I am.” “I wouldn’t know—I’m kind of new to the whole ‘people besides me have magic’ thing.” to Gwen and Lancelot’s relationship: “Is it really as sweet as it seems?” “Sweeter. It would be disgusting if they weren’t so perfect together.” to Arthur himself: “Why is your brother such a prat?” “Overcompensating,” she said with a laugh. “Well, I wish he’d stop doing it to _me_.”

Merlin never once called him Peter with Morgana. It felt strange, like sharing an inside joke with the wrong people.

All Merlin knew was that they were going to the Druids, whatever that was. He tried to catch Morgana off guard by asking about it at completely random times, but all she would ever do was smile mysteriously and keep him guessing.

That night, Merlin had to adjust to sleeping out in the woods. It felt a bit pathetic, but in his defence it wasn’t like he’d ever been camping. There had been no one to go with. He lived in _London_ , for crying out loud. It wasn’t exactly renowned for teeming with any sort of wilderness. So it was natural that he was having trouble falling asleep.

He wasn’t scared, though. Morgana clearly knew what she was doing, and Merlin’s magic meant he was more than capable of taking care of himself. He wondered, as he stared up at the trees, just when he would be going home.

Originally the plan had been to visit Camelot for a day, maybe two, and then go back. But then Arthur had decided to hold him hostage, and before Merlin knew it, he’d found himself getting attached to these people; to a cause he had no right to fight for. Camelot wasn’t _his_ world, no matter how much at home he felt in comparison to Earth.

Obviously, he couldn’t leave until they defeated Uther, but just how long would that take?

His main concern was his parents. Surely they would worry and wonder where he’d gone. Arthur had assured Merlin that he could return whenever he wanted, but the two of them had left without warning, without even a note. His parents would think he’d simply vanished, and for the first time it truly began to sink in, what he’d done.

He felt the guilt begin to settle over him like a blanket, when without warning Morgana’s voice drifted over from where she was resting a ways away from him.

“You don’t have to worry—The Lady of the Lake is looking out for them.”

Merlin started, jerking up to look over in her direction in amazement, even though it was dark and she couldn’t see him. “How...?”

“I’m a Seer,” she explained.

A thought niggled at the back of Merlin’s mind. _I’ve Seen that much_ , she’d told Arthur, _I would know_ , she’d said about Gwen and Lancelot. Of course, he thought, that made sense. He’d been reluctant to ask about the details of her magic, what with Arthur practically glaring daggers into the back of his skull if the two of them were ever alone. It made him wonder just how big of a sister complex Arthur had, or if it was even a sister complex at all. Maybe it was something deeper than that, something that Merlin couldn’t see or understand.

But there they were, and Morgana was a _Seer_ , and that was kind of absolutely amazing, Merlin thought. His own magic could do many things, like she’d observed, but never had Merlin been able to see the future.

If he really was as powerful as Morgana implied, that was probably a good thing. Merlin had no doubt that there was a strong possibility he’d end up tearing the world apart in his desperation to stop the things he Saw from coming true.

He told Morgana as much, and she seemed intrigued by his thought process.

“Aside from my ability to See the future, my magic is fairly weak, otherwise. The same goes for most people of magic, actually,” she told him. “The Old Religion hid itself away after Uther’s reign of tyranny began—”

“The Old Religion, what’s that?” Merlin interrupted without meaning to.

Morgana didn’t seem to mind. “The Old Religion is the magic of the earth itself. It is the essence which binds all things together.”

Merlin took a moment to let that sink in, attempting to wrap his mind around such a fantastic concept.

“It _should_ have lasted long beyond the time of men,” Morgana continued. “Or at least that’s what the Druids say.”

Merlin perked up at that. “These Druids. What are they?”

“Who,” Morgana corrected gently, thankfully not calling him out on his eternal curiosity. But she seemed to feel she had said enough on the subject, and not so subtly changed it to a different one—“We both need to get some sleep, early start to tomorrow.”

And that was that.

Despite all the questions he had, Merlin found he could at least take comfort in the fact that his parents were all right, even in his absence. If Freya was looking out for them, Merlin knew they’d be okay, and with that thought in mind, he managed to sink into a fairly peaceful sleep.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The Druids were a peaceful people who refused to help in the fight against Uther. They would not aid Arthur and his companions in the fight for Camelot, but they would not leave them to die, either. They would support them in other ways.

According to Morgana, they were a secretive group, known for having magic. Though that didn’t explain why they had come to this place—to Merlin’s knowledge, Morgana didn’t need any help, and she had given no reasons for the visit in the first place.

Merlin would have been blind not to notice that Morgana seemed very fond of the Druids. As they made their way through the camp, they often had to pause as she hugged some of them, and kissed others on the cheek. He concluded that it was apparently simply a social visit.

She looked _radiant_ , Merlin thought, as if she was completely at home with these people—as if she _belonged_ among them. Merlin wondered why she chose to remain with Arthur and the others instead, when she was so obviously happy here.

He lingered in the background somewhat, feeling awkward as Morgana did all the talking. For once, Merlin didn’t have much to say; in fact, he wasn’t even sure why Morgana had brought him along. Was he supposed to be protecting her, or something? Even though her magic was apparently weak, Merlin knew without a doubt that Morgana was _more_ than capable of taking care of herself. And now that she was in her element among her own people, all Merlin could do was stand there quietly trying not to draw attention to himself.

These were her people—not his. Even though they were people of magic, like he was, Merlin didn’t fit in seamlessly with them like Morgana did. He felt like an outsider all over again. Despite all the magic he could sense around him, washing over him, seeping into him and feeling like home, Merlin didn’t feel like he was home at all, even if his magic was settling right in.

Unfortunately, his plan didn’t last long. Morgana was still chatting away when Merlin saw him: A young boy, staring right at him. Merlin recognised him as one of the people Morgana had hugged when they first arrived, and he had looked at her with an expression of complete adoration on his face.

And then the two of them made eye contact, and Merlin literally felt like the world _shifted_ in that moment, because holy fuck, the boy was seeing into his _soul_ , or at least it seemed that way. The boy continued staring right at him, just from across the way, and then, like there was a fucking broadcasting frequency inside his head, he heard the boy’s voice clear as day.

_Hello, Emrys._

Apparently others could hear it too; before Merlin knew what was happening Morgana had swept over, kneeling down next to the boy and offering him a gentle smile. “Mordred, remember not to be rude,” she told him, and another Druid nearby made a sound of agreement.

Merlin was about fifty different levels of confused.

“Uh, my name isn’t Emrys,” he said, tentatively. “Also, how did he speak into my mind?” Merlin had never been able to do that with magic, and he couldn’t help thinking that it would have been really fucking convenient to know.

The Druid standing nearby smiled at him. “We don’t always need words to speak, Emrys.”

“No, seriously,” Merlin said, “My name isn’t Emrys. It’s Merlin.”

“That may be your name, but here among our people, you are known as Emrys.”

“But I’ve never met any of you before,” he said, even as a sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

“There is much written about you that you have yet to read,” the Druid told him cryptically.

Merlin shook his head. “That’s not possible. I’m not even from here. What makes me so special? _Why do you seem to think you know who I am_?”

“Your coming was prophesised long before,” the man said.

“What else was in this prophecy of yours?” Merlin asked.

The Druid’s smile grew wider.

“You are the one who is going to save us all.”

“What.” Merlin asked flatly.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“I’m sorry,” Morgana told him once they were finally mostly left alone. Once word had spread around the camp that he was really Emrys, or so they said, Merlin had been forced to deal with people _bowing_ at him, thanking him, and giving him praise he didn’t deserve. He hadn’t even done anything yet. “They were a bit overexcited to meet you, and perhaps in a bit of awe, as well.”

Merlin wanted to yell at her, wanted to ask why she hadn’t warned him, but Mordred was still standing with them, and Merlin didn’t want to alarm him by raising his voice. Besides, he reasoned, knowing wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Merlin probably wouldn’t have handled it any better.

“So,” Merlin said, not wanting to think about what had just happened, “Who’s this then?” he asked of Mordred.

Mordred turned intense blue eyes on him, and Morgana smiled. “Mordred is like a little brother to me. He’d been living in the city of Camelot with his father, but then Uther...well, you can gather what happened next. We managed to get Mordred out, and brought him here.”

Mordred raised his gaze to look at Morgana with bright eyes, and he hugged her waist—the highest part of her he could reach. Morgana wrapped her arms around him in return, and Merlin did his best to ignore the tears brimming in her eyes.

“You have an Underground Railroad?” he asked instead.

Morgana turned confused eyes upon him. “A what?”

“Er,” Merlin said, having forgotten she hadn’t taken American History. “You...smuggle people out of Camelot?”

Understanding dawned on her face, and she nodded. “When we can.”

Before they could keep talking, the head of the Druid camp—Aglain, was his name, according to Morgana—approached Merlin, a book tucked under his arm.

“This was given to us by Morgana, long ago,” he said. Merlin’s gaze immediately went to her, but she simply raised her chin at him and said nothing, so Merlin focussed his attention back on Aglain, “And now, our people would like you to have it, Emrys.”

He got down on one knee and presented the book to Merlin reverently. Merlin wanted to protest the usage of that name; he always would, he knew, but there was no point arguing against it. Instead, he peered at the book curiously. “Thank you,” he said hesitantly, reaching out to take the book from Aglain. He almost dropped it when a jolt of magic travelled up through his arm.

Aglain looked up, then. “This is a book of magic, Emrys,” and yes, Merlin had gotten that part, thanks. “Your magic is powerful, but according to Morgana your spells are nonverbal. Instinct, more than anything, elemental at best. This book will teach you incantations, powerful spells, and will help you to gain better control of your magic and grow stronger. It will be essential to you in days to come, I believe.”

Merlin blinked and looked down at the book in his hands. It was leather-bound, and obviously rather old. The original jolt of magic had faded, but Merlin could still feel a low thrum of magic emanating from it, and he felt oddly touched that the Druids were gifting him with something so obviously precious, especially given that he’d only met them that very same day.

“Thank you,” Merlin said again, more warmly this time. “I shall be sure to study every word.”

Aglain smiled, fleetingly, before he got to his feet. “We wish you luck on your journey, Emrys. May you be well.”

He walked off, leaving Merlin standing there clutching the book and feeling rather shell-shocked.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin was quiet for the first part of the journey back with Morgana.

They were silent for most of the night until Merlin, unable to sleep, said almost timidly—“Their faith in me scares me. I don’t know if I can save anyone.”

He was surprised when Morgana responded almost immediately. Apparently she hadn’t been sleeping either.

“You will,” she said, sounding exceedingly confident compared to his own uncertainty, “I believe in you.”

Merlin wasn’t so sure. Before now, he had basically just been a normal kid, albeit a magical one. On Earth, he was nothing special. No friends, something of an outcast, not particularly destined for anything _great_ ; a mediocre job at best, he’d figured. And here he was in another world he’d come to almost on a whim, at Arthur’s request, practically.

Arthur, who didn’t even seem to like him anymore, with his stupid drastic personality change. Merlin hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t a violent person; if they expected him to _kill_ Uther in order to save all those with magic, Merlin wasn’t sure he could do it.

Merlin had never thought he was going to be anything spectacular, and he hardly considered himself a saviour—but the hell he was going to let them all down without even trying.

“I’ll do my best,” he said quietly, and nothing further was said.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

When they returned to Longstrong, Merlin was surprised that most of the group greeted them alongside Alvarr, Arthur among them, and an unfamiliar face as well. Given the way Gwen looked at him, this _had_ to be Lancelot.

He was proved correct once he and Morgana had dismounted and the others had welcomed them back heartily. Except Arthur, who while present, simply glared at Merlin. Gee, Merlin thought, it was nice to know that despite his apparent saviour status, Arthur still hated his guts.

Not that he had any idea if Arthur knew of it, and honestly, Merlin wasn’t going to be the one to tell him if he didn’t. Because yes, Arthur being rude was annoying and horrible and tiresome, but Merlin would take that over excessive fawning and praise in a heartbeat. He didn’t want Arthur’s personality to change based solely on some prophecy.

The group split ways, as usual, and Merlin was surprised to find that he had ended up with Gwen, Arthur, and Lancelot, of all people. Lancelot introduced himself as they walked, and Merlin found that it was very easy to see why Gwen loved the man; and he wasn’t so blind as to miss the obvious looks of adoration that Lancelot sent in Gwen’s direction, either.

Morgana had been right. They _were_ sickeningly perfect. They were the beautiful, perfect couple in the perfect fairy tale romance, Merlin decided. Except for the part where they were technical fugitives on the run fighting for the freedom of the people.

But aside from that part.

Gwen hadn’t been exaggerating about Lancelot’s personality, Merlin realised as he sank down into a chair once they were inside. He’d never met someone so _noble_ and _genuine_ , and he was intrigued by that sort of purity.

He wondered how someone like Lancelot had joined up with Arthur, and only when Gwen giggled nervously did Merlin realise—with no small amount of mortification—that he’d accidentally said that out loud.

Lancelot took it in stride though, offering Merlin a smile and apparently more than happy to answer the question regardless.

“Before I met Arthur, I was a wandering swordsman. When he asked me to join the group, I found myself intrigued by the three of them, and thus agreed.”

Merlin felt like there was more to the story, but he didn’t ask about that. Instead, he focussed on the other part of what Lancelot had said.

“Three?” he asked.

Lancelot nodded. “Before I joined, the group consisted of Arthur, Morgana, and Leon. He’s always been with them, apparently.”

Ah, that explained Leon’s loyalty to Arthur a bit better now, even if Arthur was still a Grade A Prick, but by that point Merlin was just growing more and more curious.

“How long ago did that happen?” he asked, but before Lancelot could respond, Arthur cut in abruptly. Merlin hadn’t even known he was nearby and listening.

“It was eight years ago. Long before the rebellion was ever formed. We lived in the woods at the time. I had been...brash, only sixteen, thinking before I acted, and I challenged Lancelot to a fight. Lancelot won, but he spared my life.”

Merlin didn’t miss the look of astonishment on Lancelot’s face. He was pretty sure they didn’t talk about this, not ever, because from what Merlin had seen, Arthur had too much pride, and admitting he _lost_ to someone would be a direct blow to that pride.

“I respected that,” Arthur continued. “And since he was so skilled with a sword—and still is—I asked him to join us.”

Merlin knew he shouldn’t ask. God, he knew he shouldn’t, but for the first time in what felt like ages Arthur wasn’t glaring at him, not that he looked very happy, either, and Merlin had an insane desire to know. “How, exactly, did the three of you come to be on the run?”

The look on Arthur’s face darkened, and for a second Merlin thought he wouldn’t answer. But then Arthur began speaking; slowly, like he had to force the words out.

“Uther destroyed our homes. The woods were the safest place for us at the time. It was only when we found others like us that we actually started a fight against Uther.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said.

“I don’t need any sympathy,” Arthur snapped. “Uther has destroyed many homes and lives. I definitely don’t have the worst of it all. At least I’m _alive_.”

With that, he walked out the door, and Merlin was left feeling like he was the world’s biggest twat. That wasn’t right, he thought, he was only trying to be nice, and somehow he became the bad guy.

Lancelot seemed to understand how Merlin felt; he patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to him eventually.”

But Merlin could remember Arthur being nice, back on Earth, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Arthur being such a complete arse again.

He didn’t say that out loud.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Longstrong was the biggest village they’d stayed in thus far. Big enough, apparently, that the nine of them could all stay in the same room and _not_ be in cramped quarters, all without drawing attention to themselves. Well, that was the best part of having an abandoned barn on the edge of the village, Merlin thought.

The nine of them— _nine people_ , Merlin marvelled. He’d only ever had _one_ friend before—were happy to sit around chatting with each other.

Arthur had wanted to make haste to leave the village since they had been there for several days already. Merlin didn’t know why he seemed to be so—antsy, if that was the word for it, but Morgana had disagreed; she’d been on a horse for the past few days and wanted to simply rest for the night. It was late, anyway.

He hadn’t been happy, but he’d agreed, and in the end even _he_ wasn’t being quite so much of a dick as usual. Merlin figured that might have been because Arthur wasn’t actually talking to _him_.

Merlin himself wasn’t really talking. Instead, he was more basking in the ambience, because it was the first time he’d been able to see Gwen and Lancelot together since he’d returned from his scouting, and the two of them were holding hands and looking soppily at each other.

He laughed at a joke Leon made—the man was still uptight, but he’d loosened up a lot since Merlin had first arrived. Meanwhile, Gwaine prodded fun at Percival, who was taking it genially. Gentle giant, indeed.

Arthur and Morgana were discussing...something. Merlin didn’t know what. They were across from him, too far away to hear what was being said, especially over the sounds of Gwaine poking at Percival.

Merlin was sitting between Leon and Elyan, and aside from the few laughs Merlin exchanged with Leon, Merlin was taking the chance to bond with Elyan a bit more. The two of them were exchanging smiles now and again, because Gwen and Lancelot were just too _cute_ together, and Merlin could tell that Elyan approved of Lancelot.

Elyan was a nice person, too, and the two of them simply sat next to each other, enjoying the moment. They would be off the next morning, but for now, everything was fine. They were all happy.

Gwaine, it seemed, shared the sentiment, for he looked up from teasing Percival, looking around at all of them before he shared his observation. “This is nice, but what would make it even better is some alcohol.”

The others rolled their eyes at him, and eventually Gwaine moved on to badgering Lancelot instead. “Pull yourself away from your lady love for five minutes, at least, so you can regale us with your adventures while you were scouting.”

It didn’t take much for Lancelot to agree; he was good-natured like that, and he proceeded to launch into a tale involving a group of cargo smugglers that he had apparently convinced to join their cause. Merlin was paying attention, but he ended up getting distracted from the story when Elyan nudged him.

“That’s how Percival joined us,” he told Merlin quietly, making sure not to draw attention away from Lancelot.

“Mm?” Merlin asked.

“Lancelot came across Percival when he was out scouting, years ago. A group of bandits had attacked his family, and Lancelot saved him.”

“What about his family?” Merlin murmured.

Elyan shook his head sadly. “Lancelot singlehandedly dragged Percival back to nearest village, and Percival ended up staying with us, saying he owed Lancelot a debt of gratitude.”

Merlin knew Lancelot was a good man, but that was impressive by anyone’s standards, especially given Percival’s considerable size. Part of him wanted to ask after Gwen and Elyan’s story as well, wanted to ask why _they_ had joined up, but Merlin couldn’t do that to them, not when Elyan’s eyes showed that there was a darker story behind everything; when Gwen’s smiles weren’t always completely bright, as if she was remembering something she would rather forget.

When Lancelot finally finished telling all his stories, Arthur took over the group’s attention.

“Tomorrow, we make our way to the next village. Sleep now, make sure you’re well rested by then.”

The nine of them spread out across the barn after that, claiming random areas as their own.

Merlin was happy enough that what the Druids had said wasn’t foremost his mind as he settled down to sleep, closing his eyes as he let himself drift off. It was still there, of course, but it wasn’t bothering him as badly as it could have been.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Of course, he woke up to the sound of screaming.

Merlin jerked in alarm; it was a woman’s scream, which meant Morgana or Gwen, and he sat up in confusion, rubbing at his eyes as he noticed that everyone else was stirring, too. Well yes, he thought; they were people on the run. It wasn’t like they’d be light sleepers.

Like him, they were sitting up and looking toward the corner of the barn where Gwen and Morgana had claimed sleep for the night. They were too far, and it was too dark for Merlin to really make out what was going on—but unlike Merlin, who was simply confused, the others looked upon it with a certain amount of dread on their faces, and Merlin had no idea why.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see that Arthur was wide awake and already moving. He noticed Merlin staring at him, and put a finger to his lips. Merlin nodded, and Arthur nodded shortly in return before he made his way over to Gwen and Morgana.

After several minutes of quiet conversation, Arthur was helping Morgana to her feet before he began walking her over to the others, Gwen following after him with a subdued look on her face.

Now that Merlin could see properly, he could tell that Morgana was pale and shaking. Arthur was leading her gently, carefully, with soothing noises and soft promises, telling her it would be fine. She was too much of a wreck to really notice any of them, even as the others started to get up and head toward Arthur to try and learn what had happened.

Arthur gently passed Morgana to Gwen as he tilted his chin up, a solemn look on his face.

“Morgana Saw—” he halted for a moment, as if troubled, and then pressed on. “Uther’s knights. They’re coming,” he told them, and Gwaine cursed.

“I’m not sure if they know we’re here. But given that it’s a village raid, it’s very likely. They’ll be here sooner rather than later, but we need to warn the villagers while we still can. After that, we run. We’ll go to the Druids,” he said. “We don’t have any other options. It’s far, but to this day Uther has never figured out where their camp lies. They will provide us shelter so long as we need it, until we can get our bearings again.”

He sounded distasteful about the plan, but Merlin didn’t think it was because Arthur hated the Druids. He was pretty sure it was because _Arthur_ believed he would look weak to them, and that Arthur didn’t want to have to ask them for help. Even though, from what Morgana had said, that was _exactly_ what the Druids did—provide help.

But whatever Arthur’s feelings, he placed the lives of those he cared about far above his own, and he knew the Druids were their only chance for survival in that moment. Merlin could respect that. Arthur might have been a dick, but he most definitely cared, and Arthur would do whatever it took to protect them, even if it meant swallowing his pride.

“We split into groups to help the villagers, so we can make our escape from the village that much easier. Nine of us will be far too easy to track. Gwen, you’ll take Morgana away from here now.”

It wasn’t because they were women—it was because Morgana was still clutching Gwen desperately, and she would obviously be of no help while her vision still haunted her. If that was what seeing the future was like, Merlin didn’t _want_ that ability, as useful as it proved to be in situations like the current one.

“Lancelot and I will catch up. _Don’t stop moving_.”

“Percival and I will go in another group,” Elyan said, which left the last group as Merlin, Gwaine, and Leon.

“Go,” Arthur told them, and that set everyone into motion.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Given that it was the middle of the night, the villagers were less than happy to be roused from sleep only to be informed that their village was going to be raided. In some cases, they simply did not believe, and Merlin _couldn’t_ waste his time trying to convince someone who refused to listen. At first he had, but then he’d realised that it was fruitless, and only delayed their own escape.

It proved nearly fatal when the knights arrived while they were still in the village. Merlin didn’t know if any of the others still were, but for a moment all he could do was watch in horror while the knights broke down doors and set fire to houses. Soon, the only sound around them was that of screaming, and Leon grabbed Merlin’s arm firmly. “Come, there’s nothing more we can do,” he said urgently.

Merlin nodded, and the three of them began running.

Merlin was in fact a fast runner. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Arthur that. But unfortunately he was also horrifically, irrevocably, unequivocally _clumsy_ beyond belief. So _of course_ he would trip over a rock, of all things, and end up doing a spectacular face plant.

They hadn’t even made it out of the village yet, and honestly Merlin expected his companions to keep running. They couldn’t afford to slow down now, not for anything, and Merlin was more than capable of defending himself with his magic.

To his surprise, though, Gwaine and Leon both paused and turned back to help. Gwaine hauled Merlin up off the ground, making sure Merlin was standing firm on his feet again and checking him over for injuries.

“You all right there, Merlin?” he asked, and Merlin just kind of nodded jerkily, because of course the two of them would choose the worst possible time to be considerate like this. They weren’t anything close to safe, and if the knights caught up, it would be game over. He could already hear them approaching, the noise their armour made worse than any horror story.

Gwaine could hear them too, and he frowned, pushing Merlin forward. Merlin stumbled, caught off guard, but he didn’t move beyond that as he looked back at Gwaine in utter confusion.

“Leon, take him and run. I’ll hold them off.”

Merlin’s confusion transformed into disbelief. “What? No, we can outrun them!”

That was a lie though, and Merlin knew it. Clearly Gwaine did too, because he shook his head.

“I’ll be fine.”

Before Merlin could argue, Gwaine had shoved him forward again, toward Leon this time. Then he was off, heading toward the knights in order to cause a distraction. Merlin took one look at Leon and then ran in the same direction as Gwaine; he barely even managed twenty steps before Leon caught up with him. Merlin could still _see_ Gwaine, fighting the knights, and he struggled against Leon’s grip, but Leon refused to let go, attempting to drag Merlin back.

It took everything in Merlin’s power not to use his magic against Leon.

Gwaine was outnumbered, but he was more than a match for them nonetheless. The knights were so focussed on him, they didn’t even notice Leon holding a struggling Merlin back not far away. “We can _help_ him!” Merlin protested.

Leon shook his head. “No, we can’t.”

If anything, Merlin fought harder at that, even though he knew Leon’s words rang true. Merlin’s magic might have been strong, but if he couldn’t take them all out, it wouldn’t help anything. They would just learn he had magic, and then he’d possibly be killed, and Merlin _couldn’t_ die, not when the Druids were so sure he was going to save them. He couldn’t save anyone if he was dead.

So all Merlin could do was watch in horror as Gwaine was overpowered and then knocked out, and the knights tied him up and tossed him over the back of a horse. He was devastated; paralysed by what he’d seen, and Leon didn’t hesitate to take advantage of his now immobile state. He picked Merlin up and slung him over his shoulder as he began running. It was probably for the best—Merlin’s legs had given out on him.

Leon hadn’t said a word about it, but it was his own fault, Merlin knew. If he hadn’t tripped, it wouldn’t have happened. What would the others think?

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“What?!” Arthur shouted.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin told him, not for the first time. “If I hadn’t tripped...”

“It’s not your fault, Merlin,” Morgana said, now recovered from her earlier nightmare. She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder and sent Arthur a glare. “It was Gwaine’s choice to help you.”

Be that as it may, it didn’t stop Merlin from feeling miserable. Leon had been the one to stop him from charging in to rescue Gwaine and had put just as much blame on himself, but when the two of them had finally arrived at the Druid camp, Arthur had been less than pleased to learn that Gwaine had been captured. By Uther’s men, of all people. Naturally, his anger was directed at Merlin.

There wasn’t much of anything that they could do at the moment, though. Before anything else, the eight of them needed to set up their own camp among the Druids. They would be staying indefinitely, but Arthur had made it clear that even though they couldn’t leave for awhile, he would be keeping in contact with the other rebels.

The Druids, of course, had been happy to take them in; anyone who needed shelter was welcome, and they didn’t expect anything in return.

When they all first began making camp, Merlin was aware of Arthur sending him nasty glares, but well, that wasn’t particularly anything new, Merlin thought. All he could really do was keep working, to try and keep his mind off what had happened as much as possible. He didn’t know what Uther would do to Gwaine once he had him in his grasp, but given Uther’s insanity, Merlin knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

The group being tense didn’t help the mood. The loss of Gwaine was a prominent one, for now there was silence when he would have filled it with chatter and vulgar jokes. But in light of recent events, it was obvious that everything that could have gone wrong had.

Merlin used his magic now and again for little things, to make setting the camp up easier. He hadn’t really had time to peruse the magic book the Druids had given him, and Merlin thought once everything had settled down a bit, he might take a more in-depth look at it.

Using his magic always made him feel less jittery, and because he was used to practicing his magic when no one was looking, Merlin was keeping to himself as he worked. He tried to block out the bad thoughts as best he could, but that honestly wasn’t very well at all.

It was only because of years of control that his magic didn’t lash out in alarm when someone tapped him on the shoulder, dragging him out of his own little world.

He looked up, seeing Lancelot standing before him with a solemn look on his face. “Arthur wants to talk to you,” Lancelot said, gesturing to where Arthur was, indeed, standing and talking to Percival—or talking _at_ Percival, rather. It wasn’t like the man was actually saying anything in return.

Merlin blinked, caught off guard. Considering how angry Arthur had been with him, not that Merlin blamed him, he would have thought that Arthur never wanted to speak to him again, really. He nodded at Lancelot to show he understood and walked over to the two men.

Merlin bobbed his head at Percival in greeting before he focussed his attention on Arthur. “You needed to talk to me?” he asked.

“Ah, Merlin,” Arthur said, sounding oddly cheerful despite what had happened. “Given the situation at hand, Percival and I have decided to go and bring Gwaine back, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know.”

Merlin stared at him, then at Percival, who stared right back with no reaction. He looked between the two of them with an expression of unease. “Just the two of you? But...isn’t it going to be dangerous?”

Arthur scoffed. “Of course it’ll be dangerous, Merlin, he’s in the _castle_. Not exactly the best place to be in this day and age.”

“But then...I should come with you!” Merlin argued.

Arthur frowned. “You’re the one who _caused_ this mess, you shouldn’t be coming _anywhere_ with us.”

Merlin wanted to scream.

“It’s my fault!” he said, using all his willpower not to shout in Arthur’s face. “It’s my fault, I’m responsible! That means it’s _my_ responsibility to go get him back. _And_ I have magic. That can be nothing but helpful here.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “Your magic is the _main_ reason you shouldn’t come. In case you failed to realise, Gwaine is in the _castle_. Uther’s castle? The man who hates all magic users, and would kill you without a second thought if he got his hands on you?”

Merlin flinched, but he refused to stand down, continuing to look Arthur straight in the eye. “Look, I know you don’t like me. And to be honest, I don’t like you much either. But as you said, I caused this mess, and I clean up my messes. I owe that much to Gwaine. He got caught helping me. The least I can do is risk myself to help _him_.”

Arthur still looked like he didn’t agree, but Merlin found himself taken aback when Percival—quiet, giant Percival who rarely spoke and had said only perhaps five or ten words to Merlin in the entire time Merlin had been with the group—spoke up, causing Merlin to stare at him in disbelief.

“His magic would help, Arthur.”

Arthur, like Merlin, looked stunned that Percival had said anything. But one thing Merlin had learned about the man in all the time he’d been there was that if Percival spoke up, it was probably something to take into consideration. Arthur knew that as well as the next person.

Merlin felt almost touched that Percival would speak up in his defence considering the situation, even as Arthur deliberated over Percival’s words for a minute or two before he finally relented. “Of course you’re right, Percival.”

Arthur looked back at Merlin, obviously not pleased, but at the very least accepting of the fact that Merlin was going to be coming with them.

“Well, come on then. Time to fill you in on the plan.”

* * *

“How did you know about that secret passage?” Merlin asked Arthur quietly as the three of them made their way through the castle. Before they’d left the camp, Arthur had stressed that the entire journey was going to be extremely difficult. Then, he’d found the passage and they had yet to see even a single person. Not that Merlin was letting his guard down.

“I grew up near the castle as a child and I was far too curious for my own good,” Arthur told him, “Now _shut up_. We are _sneaking_.”

Merlin gave Percival a look, attempting to convey the feeling of _can you believe this guy?_ , and apparently it worked, because suddenly Percival was trying not to smile.

The moment was, inevitably, ruined by Arthur.

“Tell me, _Mer_ lin, do you even remember why we’re here?”

The question immediately sobered Merlin and Percival up. “Sorry,” Merlin apologised, but Arthur ignored him as they kept going.

Merlin figured they were doing pretty well, considering there were three of them and Percival was built like a fucking tank. Arthur seemed to know exactly where they were going, which Merlin thought was a bit beyond simply being too curious as a kid, but he decided not to question it and its convenience.

Gwaine would be in the dungeons, according to Arthur, but when they reached them, Gwaine wasn’t the only person there. Percival easily knocked out the two lone guards simultaneously, and Merlin was stuck looking between each of the cells.

The one on the left wasn’t Gwaine; he was chained to the wall and wore a simple robe. Merlin could sense his magic, and the man watched them through unblinking eyes.

But when Merlin glanced to the left and saw Gwaine, he thought he might be sick. Like the other man, he was also chained to the wall, but in comparison he was shirtless, and barely conscious.

Gwaine hardly noticed them. His chest was bruised and there were welts on it, the injuries varying from lashes, scratches, dried blood, and fresh scars.

 _They tortured him_.

Merlin glanced at Arthur and Percival, but Arthur’s lips were in a tight line and he hardly seemed surprised, and Percival’s face was impassive.

But they couldn’t just stand around, so Merlin shook it off and gestured for his companions to stand back. He raised his arm. Merlin knew just the spell for this; he’d scanned the book before they left, looking for spells that might be useful when it came to the rescue mission.

“ _Tóspringe_ ,” he uttered, and both the cell doors exploded off their hinges.

Arthur rushed forward into Gwaine’s cell the second the way was clear.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, “The guards will have heard that.”

He knelt by Gwaine’s side. “Merlin, his chains.”

Merlin entered the cell as well, raising his hand once more. “ _Unspanne_ ,” he said, feeling his eyes burn. He watched as the chains around Gwaine’s wrists unlocked, and Arthur caught Gwaine before he fell forward. He allowed Gwaine to lean heavily on him as they staggered out of the cell.

Meanwhile, Merlin went into the other cell, repeating the spell for the magic user.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, sounding harried but not angry.

“He’s a magic user,” Merlin explained as the man rubbed at his wrists. “You can walk, right?”

The man nodded, and Merlin stepped out of the way. He would have asked the man’s name, but seeing as how they were a bit busy, there wasn’t really time for an introduction.

“Percival, lead the way,” Arthur said. The next leg of the rescue was to return the way they’d come, but this time they had two extra people with them, and they’d be facing angry guards who had obviously heard the commotion.

It was Percival’s job to knock the guards out as they came, since he was leading. Merlin found himself in awe at Percival’s strength, how he never broke a sweat even as he took down half a dozen guards at once with just his fists. He’d definitely hate for Percival to be an enemy.

Eventually they made it out of the castle, but of course their problems were far from over. The warning bells were sounding, and the guards were on high alert. When they ran into the woods, the guards didn’t hesitate to give chase.

The five of them managed to do all right in the forest in terms of escape—right up until the guards set it on fire.

They could see the flames in the distance.

“Keep running,” Arthur said. “Don’t get separated. Stay together, and _keep running_.”

Unfortunately the fire was faster than they were, and eventually one of the trees crashed down in front of them, blocking their original escape route. In addition, the guards were still giving chase—because they were clearly the dumbest guards in the history of existence, running into a forest that was still on fire—and coming up behind them.

Merlin knew they were surrounded with no way out.

In addition, the smoke was starting to suffocate them. It was making them cough; making it harder to see as their eyes watered and the smoke invaded their lungs. And to top it all off, they still had to fight for their lives.

Percival stepped forward, drawing his sword. Arthur pulled his out as well, but since he was the one supporting Gwaine, there wasn’t much he could do in terms of fighting. He glanced at the magic user that had come with them. “You,” he called, “Can you use your magic?”

The man grimaced, “Nothing that would be of any use against them.” He eyed Arthur’s sword. “I could use that, though.”

Arthur didn’t hesitate to pass him the weapon. “Then show us your worth.”

Together, Percival and the magic user pushed the guards back as best they could. Percival kept going, even when his arm ended up with a nasty cut that bled profusely the more he ignored it. No matter how good the two of them were, they were still being forced backwards, toward the burning trees behind them.

Finally, Merlin snapped. He knew exactly what to do—and while he didn’t know a spell for it, Merlin didn’t need one. It was purely instinctual.

“Stay back,” he said, and then raised his palms upwards toward the sky.

After several heart-pounding seconds, the rain started. Slowly at first, and then faster, beginning to put the fire out. While the guards were distracted by the turn of events, Merlin used his magic on them as well, thrusting his hand out and sending them all flying back.

Most of them hit the ground hard, rendering them unconscious, but a few of them got up and scrambled away. Merlin could only watch in horror, knowing they would tell Uther, but Arthur was already shouting that they needed to keep running, that they couldn’t do anything.

Gwaine, mostly out of it, obviously in pain and hurting something fierce, abruptly started laughing.

“Welcome to official fugitive status,” he told Merlin, and then collapsed.

There wasn’t much they could say to that. It was true. Given that Gwaine was now dead weight, Percival took him from Arthur, and they resumed running while they still had the chance.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Arthur had sent Percival ahead with Gwaine to the Druid camp, demanding they get their wounds treated. He and Merlin were going to take the man—Tauren, his name was Tauren—to Willowdale. He was a magic user, and he’d been in Uther’s dungeons; so it wasn’t all that hard to get Tauren to agree to fight for the cause.

Longstrong was closer, but after the raid, there wasn’t much of a place left for Tauren to settle. Gilli would be the one to help Tauren until the man was better acquainted.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Tauren said as they walked, “But at the same time if not for him, you would not have freed me. I was to be executed at dawn.”

“How long had you been in there for?” Merlin asked.

“Just a day,” Tauren said. “There was a group of us, we were trying to escape the city, but as you can see, it didn’t work. The others were killed.” He faltered. “And I, as the one who had encouraged them to flee, was to be made an example of.”

Merlin winced. Arthur remained expressionless. “I apologise, for not being able to help you sooner,” Arthur said stoically. “Uther’s men have been moving ever closer to our locations, so lately we’ve been forced to keep our eyes directed toward the outlying villages, rather than on Camelot itself.”

Tauren shook his head. “It can’t be easy, I know. It would be worse without you either way.”

Tauren was right, Merlin thought. Without Arthur and the others, no one would be safe.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

They picked up horses in Willowdale, because the journey was long and the both of them were in pain from the rescue and desperately wanted to sleep for a week. Arthur looked a right mess; and when Merlin had caught sight of himself in a reflection of water, he realised he did too. They were streaked black from the smoke where the rain hadn’t been able to wash it away.

Still, as they left the village, Merlin couldn’t help feeling kind of absurdly happy. It was finally starting to sink in: They’d _done_ it. They’d rescued not only Gwaine, but Tauren as well, and while they were definitely not one hundred percent, they’d all lived to tell the tale.

Merlin was riding pretty high on his success when Arthur looked over at him. “Thank you,” he said, and Merlin gaped at him, “I suppose you’re not completely useless.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Merlin said sarcastically, but he was smiling. He was a bit staggered; it was the nicest Arthur had been to him in _ages_. But then, Merlin figured, the whole saving-everyone’s-life thing might have helped with that.

Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry about Uther,” he said quietly.

“It’s fine,” Merlin told him. “I was happy to help.”

To put the icing on the cake, Arthur proceeded to offer him a goddamn half-smile before he trotted away with his horse, and Merlin was left behind wondering if he’d been dropped into yet another world where Arthur was actually _nice_ to him.

When they reached the Druid camp, Arthur immediately went to go check on Gwaine and Percival. Merlin would have followed after him, but he was stopped by one of the Druids approaching him. He had a woman with him, and she couldn’t stop staring at Merlin, which led him to wonder if she was another one of those strange Emrys fangirls. The thought made him uneasy, but then the Druid spoke.

“I have someone I’d like you to meet,” he said, and brought her forward.

Maybe she wasn’t a fangirl, Merlin decided. She wasn’t bowing over her feet or anything, just staring at him in disbelief. That wasn’t so bad. He was all right with that.

He extended his hand to her. “Hi, I’m Merlin. Nice to meet you,” he introduced himself.

She started crying.

Merlin took a step back in alarm. “No, what, I’m sorry, what did I do?”

She shook her head, as if she was trying to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but she was crying too hard to say anything, so the Druid stepped in once more.

“Emrys, this is Hunith. She’s your mother.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin could only sit there feeling mildly catatonic as he listened to the woman, who was apparently his mother, speak.

“Before you were born,” she said, “Because Uther was killing so many of those who had magic, the Old Religion began to retreat.” Merlin remembered that part; Morgana had told him that, but Hunith had far more to say about it. “But before it went into hiding, it fused a large portion of its magic into an unborn child.” She raised her gaze to look him in the eye.

“That child was you. We were told you had a great destiny and that you were going to save all those with magic one day—but before that could happen, you had to be hidden away, so no one could find you before that time. So we gave you to the Lady of the Lake to be kept safe, and she sent you to another world to ensure you would be.”

Merlin had always known that he was adopted, so accepting that his real mother was out there somewhere wasn’t the hard part to believe. No, the hard part was accepting the fact that he had been born in Camelot, and that he wasn’t actually from Earth at all.

It all made sense, he realised. Why there was no one else with magic on Earth; why he’d gotten that feeling from Arthur when they’d first met; why he felt so at _home_ in Camelot despite it all.

His stomach hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Hunith said. “I am _so sorry_ I had to send you away. I didn’t want to.”

Merlin was a little-a-lot bothered by that (not so) little detail, but considering he was busy trying to absorb all the other information he’d just been given, Merlin wasn’t going to dwell on it at that moment.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just—need to be alone right now.”

Hunith nodded as if she completely understood, and left quietly with another whispered apology as Merlin continued sitting there, his limbs frozen and feeling as if he was catatonic.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

By the time dawn broke, Merlin had yet to move from that spot. Perhaps the others had been informed of what had happened, because thankfully no one had approached him. They allowed Merlin to sit in peace as he continued to process everything he had learned.

In truth, he didn’t really know what to do about it. Merlin wasn’t exactly the sort to run away from his problems; he hadn’t been raised that way. Even after Will, Merlin hadn’t run, much as he’d wanted to sometimes.

But now, part of Merlin wanted to run and never look back; to leave, hide, and pretend he had never been told the things he had.

It was one thing to be prophesied to save those with magic—it was another thing entirely to be _destined_ to do so from birth. Merlin kind of hated the fact that the Old Religion had fled after screwing him over. He would rather have liked to punch it in the face. Somehow.

Merlin sighed, rubbing at his face tiredly. Of course he couldn’t run, and despite this _destiny_ bullshit, it didn’t mean he was going to change his mind about helping out. Honestly, all things considered, meeting his real mother and learning he wasn’t actually from Earth was by far the least of his problems.

In fact, one thing was bothering him even more than the whole _destiny_ issue, even.

Who and where, exactly, was his father?

Hunith—he couldn’t bring himself to call her mother, not yet. Perhaps one day, but it was too soon, too new, too _strange_ —hadn’t mentioned him, and Merlin had been too busy learning everything else for it to occur to him to ask. But now that he’d had the time to think—well. Part of him wanted to ask her, but the fact that she hadn’t mentioned the man at all beyond allusions to “we” made Merlin...reluctant to pry.

In theory he could have, and she might even have answered. He _was_ her son. But Merlin was having a hard time seeing it that way; they were blood relatives in name and nothing more, in his eyes. He didn’t know anything at all about her beyond her _name_ , hadn’t really had a chance to get to know her when she was telling him about his own past. Hunith was a _stranger_ to him.

Of course he forgave her; that part had been easy enough for Merlin. He understood exactly she had done it, and yes it had _hurt_ , but it wasn’t like Merlin had had a hard childhood. His adoptive parents were good people who treated him well, so it wasn’t like Merlin was mentally unstable or anything.

Merlin supposed, since he had been given to Freya, that he had her to thank for that. At the very least, it explained how she’d truly known his name. It hadn’t really been her place to tell him the truth.

More than the fact that Hunith had given him up for his own safety, it hurt Merlin _because_ he viewed her as a stranger; that he hadn’t had the chance to get to know her. But he _wanted_ to. He wanted to get to know the woman who had given birth to him. It was just that Merlin didn’t really know what to say to her, or how to achieve that goal.

When he felt someone sit down next to him, Merlin had no idea how long he’d been there, deep in thought. A quick glance told him the newcomer was Gwen, and Merlin smiled at her in greeting.

She smiled back half-heartedly, the effect dampened by the fact that she was biting at the nail of her index finger in a worried, or perhaps nervous, fashion.

Obviously she wanted something, and so Merlin focussed his attention on her, rather than his thoughts. “Do you need something?” he asked her, not unkindly.

Gwen looked surprised that he had asked, and she pulled her finger away from her mouth, looking flustered.

“No, well, not really, it’s just—well, Morgana explained to us, about your mother, and how you’re actually from here, and I was just—wondering, I was just wondering, but well, you’ve simply been sitting here all night, and even most of the morning—” holy crap, had it really been that long? Merlin hadn’t realised “—and it just occurred to me that maybe—you didn’t have a mother where you grew up?”

Merlin blinked at her, not having expected that, and his lack of reaction caused Gwen to grow even more flustered. “Well it’s just that you seem very lost, like you’ve never had a mother before, and well, I know if I suddenly had a mother I would be lost too, and—”

Merlin laughed gently and placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down.

“No, Gwen, it’s all right. I do have a mother back on Earth, her name is Mary. There’s more to the story than Hunith simply being my mother, but I do appreciate your concern.”

Gwen remained still for a moment as she let that knowledge sink in, and then she relaxed, now obviously feeling less flustered. “Oh, well, that’s good, because honestly I wasn’t sure what to say if that had been the case, as I’ve never had a mother, but I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Merlin smiled at her. “You’re a good person, Gwen.”

She blushed, the colour as charming as ever on her, but Merlin couldn’t help playing back her last statement, and his smile fell a bit.

“Forgive me for prying,” he said, and Gwen looked at him with curiosity. “But, your mother...?”

Gwen bit at her lip, but that was the only sign of reluctance she showed. “Oh, no, it’s all right. My mother died when I was very young, before I can even remember. Elyan, I think, remembers her more, but well, he and my father never liked to talk about her, probably because it hurt them too much.”

“Your father?” Merlin inquired, and Gwen nodded. “He was the local blacksmith in Camelot—the finest in the land.”

She smiled fondly as she spoke, her gaze far away as she lost herself in memories. Merlin hadn’t missed the usage of _was_.

“He was a good man, always willing to help people. He tried to help those with magic, when he could, to help them get out of Camelot. He was part of the rebellion before the rebellion even formed, if you think about it.” Her eyes turned sad, “But then Uther found out, and had him executed. Elyan and I—Uther said that as the children of a traitor to the crown, we could not be trusted, that the same traitorous blood was within us. So we ran into the forest, where we met Lancelot,” here, she blushed, “And he brought us to Arthur, who kindly allowed us to stay with the group. And well, here we are!”

Merlin had known, when he had first seen the shadows in Elyan’s eyes, that their reasons for joining had not been pleasant, but Merlin found that he was in awe at how brave they had been in the face of it all, and he could only say one thing in response.

“Your father would be very proud of you. Your mother, too.”

Gwen smiled radiantly at him, the compliment obviously making her happy. “I think you’re right, Merlin. I really do.”

Merlin smiled as well, and proceeded to bend over and rest his head against her shoulder. The position was awkward and more than a little uncomfortable. Gwen was giggling as she tried to push him off, but Merlin refused to budge, and eventually Gwen stopped trying to move him.

The two of them continued to sit there, content in each other’s presence.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Learning about Gwen and Elyan’s past—or more specifically, the death of both their mother and father—was in the end what gave Merlin the courage to be able to talk to his own mother.

“Hunith?” he asked her tentatively, feeling guilty when she immediately lit up since it was the first time he’d been able to approach her.

“Yes, Merlin?” she asked kindly.

“I think we should...talk,” he said.

For days, it seemed they did nothing but.

“What’s your favourite colour?” she asked him once. Those were her favourite kinds of questions to ask—getting-to-know-him questions, and Merlin couldn’t fault her for that.

“Purple,” Merlin told her. It had been blue, once, but he remembered with a fond smile the time Gwen had told him purple suited him, and the colour had been growing on him ever since.

She learned his likes: “Indian food, toads, the word supercilious” dislikes: “scorpions, horror films, football” hobbies: “yoga, swimming” interests: “photography, theatre” and abilities: “I just have to think something and my magic generally does it for me. Apparently that makes me powerful.”

And so it went on. Of course, she didn’t know what half the things he mentioned were, but Merlin thought it was nice that she even cared at all.

In turn, Merlin didn’t actually learn much about her. Hunith did not frequently talk about herself, much preferring to learn about him, but at the same time even if he didn’t know the smaller things, her actions spoke far louder than any words.

Merlin wasn’t surprised at all to find that Hunith was a very kind and giving person; it was a feeling he’d gotten from her since the first time they had spoken. She laughed easily, and as Merlin found out, she was a _horrible_ cook, but she kept trying anyway. She was a gentle soul, always willing to help out those who needed it, which he witnessed for himself day after day as aided the Druids with their daily tasks, such as collecting food and laundry. She wasn’t a Druid herself, but why she was there at the camp, she wouldn’t say.

The more Merlin looked, the more of himself he could see in her. Not that he was saying he was anything like Hunith in terms of her disposition, but Hunith firmly believed in doing what was right, defending the little man, and she could be stubborn as hell when it came down to it.

He could see himself in her eyes, the shape of her smile, the colour of her hair, and Merlin couldn’t help but feel warm inside. He had always wondered, especially as a child, if his real parents were out there somewhere, and there his mother was right in front of him.

But even in light of all of that, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to ask her about his father.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

True to his word, Arthur contacted those in the villages whenever he could. Apparently, they would have to lay low in the Druid camp until they received word that the guards weren’t on high alert anymore. It was up to the others in the rebellion to take care of things while Arthur was out of commission.

Merlin knew that had to annoy Arthur, but surprisingly Arthur didn’t show any signs of annoyance, or make any comments about how much he wanted to leave. Merlin thought that perhaps it was in part because of Morgana, who obviously loved the Druids and fit in wonderfully. He often caught Arthur staring at her—surrounded by her people, her _friends_ —with an unreadable look on his face.

Another part, Merlin thought, was perhaps because of _him_ , or the fact that his mother was there, at least. Merlin was slowly getting to know her, and he felt Arthur’s gaze upon his back almost as often as he caught Arthur staring at Morgana.

The others were also settling in well, enjoying the fact that they were safe there, that they didn’t have to keep _running_. Even Lancelot, who suffered from eternal wanderlust, seemed unbothered as he sat with Gwen day after day, so obviously in love. And Gwaine, ever the tavern-goer, was moderately happy so long as the Druids kept him supplied with alcohol.

In fact, the only person who seemed restless and relatively unhappy was Arthur himself.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Arthur was treating Merlin much nicer by that point. He offered him smiles at times, greeted him whenever they passed each other, slung an arm over Merlin’s shoulder companionably more often than not, engaged in playful banter with him on a nearly daily basis, and wasn’t rude anymore. Well, sometimes he was, but that seemed more like an ingrained habit than actually _intentionally_ being rude. Despite all that, though, Merlin found it exceedingly difficult to just suck it up and ask Arthur what was wrong.

Nonetheless, he wanted to know, and so he went to the one person who probably _would_ know, besides Arthur himself. The person who knew Arthur best, had been with him for a very long time, and could be considered Arthur’s best friend: Leon.

Of course, Merlin could have asked Morgana, but she still intimidated him somewhat, with her beauty and occasionally sharp tongue. Leon was a much safer choice.

His decision made, Merlin chose to sit by Leon that same night as they all ate. Leon nodded at him in greeting and continued eating, politely not asking if Merlin wanted something, or if anything was wrong, even as Merlin hardly touched his food, more fiddling with the utensil than using it for its intended purpose.

Merlin hadn’t really been near Leon—had hardly spoken to him at all—since the night Gwaine was captured. Even when laughing together, the two of them had never had a _real_ conversation, so Merlin knew he was being more than obvious by actively seeking Leon out.

It would have been awkward, Merlin figured, if not for the fact that it was Leon, who was always polite and gave people space when they needed it. After the silence between them had stretched on for long enough, Merlin finally gathered up his courage.

“Um, about Arthur...”

The sentence grabbed Leon’s attention, and he looked up from his food, fixing Merlin with a curious gaze. It wasn’t a judgemental one; just an inquiry, of sorts. Merlin ducked his head, feeling his face flush and knowing how it would look to Leon, Merlin coming over to talk to him and then asking about _Arthur_ instead.

He couldn’t back off now, though, not when he’d already picked the topic of the conversation. “Well, I mean...” Merlin fumbled. “We’re all...happy here, right?”

Leon seemed to consider the question for a moment before he inclined his head.

“We’re all fairly satisfied, it would seem, and indebted to the Druids for giving us shelter and allowing us to remain here for so long.”

“But Arthur isn’t happy,” Merlin ended up blurting out.

The look Leon gave him made Merlin wonder why he’d ever thought that going to Leon about his concerns would actually be a good idea. He was loyal to _Arthur_ , so why would he be happy about the fact that Merlin was trying to poke his nose into his friend’s personal life?

But then, Leon spoke.

“Arthur...did he ever tell you the reason he’s leading the rebels?”

Merlin considered it. “Not...exactly. A little, I suppose. I asked once, about the three of you. I shouldn’t have, I know, but all he said was that Uther destroyed your homes—that you lived in the woods at first, that they were the safest place for you.”

Leon nodded slowly, musingly. “Arthur’s father, he was a close friend of the King.” Merlin sucked in a breath, but he was careful not to interrupt.

“When it was discovered that Morgana had magic, their father kept it from Uther as best he could. But Uther was—is—a shrewd, paranoid man. He figured it out eventually. He killed their father, and he would have killed Morgana as well, but Arthur managed to get her out in time. As for me, I grew up with them, and since I’m older, I felt a...certain sense of obligation to go with them, look after them.”

Merlin stared at Leon in shock, horror, and a certain amount of awe; there was an even smaller amount of disbelief that he was even being told such a story. It didn’t answer why Arthur was unhappy there compared to everyone else, but apparently Leon wasn’t finished.

“Arthur has been...unsettled, since then. He has trouble staying in one place for very long. It’s like he’s always looking over one shoulder, expecting to be followed. When the knights raided Longstrong—it was like his nightmares had come to life before his very eyes. I think that’s what bothers him the most.

“And considering Uther now knows you have magic, it was bad luck all around. He wants nothing more than to be out there, aiding the rebellion. Not to be stuck here, even though he knows this is the safest place we’ve been in a very long time. Arthur would like nothing more than to get as far away from it as possible.”

Merlin mulled over that in his head, letting the words sink in.

“You know him very well,” he observed quietly, and blinked when Leon made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a choked off laugh.

“I did grow up with him,” he reminded Merlin, but there was a smile in his voice.

Merlin hummed in response, hesitating over his next question before he decided to just go with it. He’d already overstepped his boundaries anyway. And Leon had been more than helpful thus far.

“And you?” Merlin asked without warning. “How did Uther destroy _your_ home?”

When he brought himself to look at Leon, he saw that Leon was smiling fondly, which Merlin hadn’t expected. “Arthur believes that since I willingly chose to go with them, my home back in Camelot was—metaphorically—destroyed. But I was already a full-grown man by that time, self-sufficient and managing a place by myself. It wasn’t difficult to leave it all behind to go with them. My true home is with them, wherever they are.”

The fond smile slipped away, Leon’s face becoming solemn.

“I trust you, Merlin, or I wouldn’t have told you any of this. Arthur...it’s not my story to tell.”

Suddenly, Merlin understood _why_ Leon had told him, despite that. Leon, like Merlin, was well aware of the fact that Arthur wasn’t happy. He had grown up with him, had known that, and been unable to do anything. Leon hoped—possibly unwisely, Merlin thought—that perhaps Merlin could do what he couldn’t. That Merlin would be able to help Arthur.

Saving all those with magic seemed pretty simple in comparison.

* * *

It had been almost two weeks since Merlin had spoken to Leon, and Merlin had tried, in that time and to the best of his ability, to do what Leon hoped for and help Arthur. Only, it had been pretty difficult, being surrounded by seven other people in their group _besides_ Arthur and himself. Adding his mother to the addition made it eight, _and_ taking into account the fact that the Druids were practically his groupies and only occasionally left him to his own thoughts.

But Merlin _had_ tried, as best he could, and when he’d finally managed to get Arthur alone, the first thing he had done was tell Arthur the truth.

“Leon told me, about what happened. With your past.”

Arthur’s lips had thinned, drawn into a tight line, but he had nodded shortly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I believe in honesty,” Merlin had said. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you, not when it would obviously create a problem.” And probably turn Arthur back into a dick, but he didn’t say that part.

Arthur had loosened up at that, and offered Merlin a smile. Merlin liked that they were happening more frequently, but he especially liked that they were being directed at him. Arthur had a sort of charisma about him that _shined_ when he wasn’t being a prat.

“Maybe,” Merlin had suggested hesitantly, not wanting to overstep his bounds, “You should do the same?”

Arthur had looked thoughtful. “I want to show you something,” he’d said in response.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“Peter, wait up!” Merlin called, laughing as he tried to keep up with Arthur. His long legs made that possible, but Arthur had the advantage of knowing the forest far better than Merlin did, especially in the dark.

There was no response beyond Arthur’s own echoing laughter. He had stopped arguing with Merlin over calling him Peter at some point; Merlin wasn’t sure when that had changed, exactly, but he was glad it had.

Though he couldn’t see Arthur, Merlin wasn’t too worried about losing him. Arthur had said he had something he wanted to show him, after all. It had so strongly echoed Arthur’s words from when they’d been on Earth, before he’d brought Merlin to Camelot, that Merlin wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to say no even if he’d wanted to.

He hadn’t wanted to.

“We’re here,” Arthur said suddenly, surprising Merlin as Arthur appeared next to him with a half-smile on his face, looking ahead.

“Huh?” Merlin asked absentmindedly, following Arthur’s gaze and then feeling his breath catch in his throat.

“Oh!” he breathed out softly, taking in the sight of the light blue _glowing_ flowers before him, of the butterflies that glowed the exact same shade of blue fluttering about, occasionally alighting on the flowers before once again taking flight.

The place was devoid of magic—Merlin didn’t sense any—but it still _felt_ magical, beautiful and somewhat ethereal.

“I’m the only one who knows about this place, I think,” Arthur said quietly. “I found it not long after we first came to the Druid camp. I’ve been coming here now and again since then, if I ever need time to myself to think.”

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who was gazing at the flowers and butterflies with a look of utter contentment on his face. He wanted to ask Arthur why, then, had he brought _Merlin_ there—but voicing the question would have destroyed the moment, he knew.

He was caught off guard when Arthur suddenly looked back at him, his gaze catching Merlin’s and holding it there with a strange sort of intensity.

“So do you like it? What do you think?”

They held each other’s gaze for nearly a minute before Merlin finally looked away to once again take in the surrounding area. “It’s beautiful,” he said, nodding. “It’s _wonderful_.” He chuckled, then, the sound slightly sad.

“Will would have hated this place.”

He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt the need to mention Will, but when he felt more than saw Arthur’s look of inquiry, Merlin decided to explain.

“Will...was my best friend,” Merlin said, forcing himself to keep looking forward and not at Arthur, “We grew up together, as kids back on Earth. He was the only person, besides my parents, who knew I had magic. He called them magic tricks. But then...” he trailed off, staring off into the distance, barely even registering the breathtaking view before him as he lost himself in his memories.

Eventually he could hear Arthur’s voice, speaking gently, bringing him out of it. “What happened to him?”

“Car accident,” Merlin said simply, “When we were teenagers. I was _right there_ , but I couldn’t—” his voice broke somewhat, but he kept going. “I couldn’t save him.”

They were both silent for a long moment, and when Arthur spoke again, his voice was cold. “So you only saved me because you couldn’t handle the fact that you weren’t able to save your friend, that first time.”

Merlin turned to look at Arthur in disbelief, but his face was unreadable. “ _What_? Peter, _no_ that isn’t the reason at _all_ —“

Arthur was the one to turn away this time. “Of course,” he continued, completely ignoring Merlin. “I see how it is.” His tone was almost frigid by that point, and Merlin couldn’t believe that Arthur was choosing _right then_ , of all times, to act like such a _child_.

“No, you don’t Peter, you need to _listen_ to me—”

“Never mind, Merlin.”

“ _Arthur_.”

That gave Arthur pause—Merlin so rarely used his real name when it was just the two of them—but then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to _me_.”

“Yes, well, what _you_ think doesn’t matter either.”

“Oh, enough!” Merlin half-shouted in agitation.

Finally, _finally_ Arthur turned back to look at him with a look of offence on his face, like he couldn’t believe that Merlin thought their argument so trivial.

It _was_ though, Merlin thought. He didn’t hesitate to grab Arthur’s tunic and yank him close, pressing his lips firmly against Arthur’s.

Arthur froze for a moment; only a moment, and then he fell into it, kissing Merlin back fiercely.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

They got word that it was safe to leave the very next morning.

Merlin packed his things quietly. All of them were fairly subdued, having grown used to the comfort of the Druid camp, but they knew they could not stay there.

For Merlin, the most difficult part was leaving his mother behind. Hunith couldn’t come with them, and it would just figure that right as Merlin was getting to know his mother, he would have to part ways with her. He could visit, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

To Merlin’s utter mortification, though, the rest of the group was giving him knowing looks. They’d been doing so since they had first woken up, but Merlin was determinedly ignoring them and refused to say anything. He and Arthur hadn’t even spoken yet.

All they’d done the night before was kiss, and then they’d gone back to camp and drifted apart to sleep, neither of them saying anything. Merlin was far too embarrassed to be the one to make the first move.

In what seemed like no time at all, the nine of them were ready to go. They had already said their goodbyes, and so the group moved as one to the edge of the camp until the sound of shouting reached their ears.

“Merlin!” Hunith was calling, and slowly they stopped, turning to look at her even though she had said _Merlin’s_ name. Merlin on the other hand, blinked in confusion as he saw his mother approaching. He’d already said goodbye to her—had promised to visit and everything.

Hunith looked troubled though, biting at her lip, and Merlin stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What is it, mother?” he asked, the word flowing smoothly off his tongue by that point.

“The Caves of Balor,” she said, leaving Merlin to tilt his head to the side in confusion.

“Sorry, what?” Merlin had seen maps of Albion since he’d arrived, so he knew _where_ the caves were, at least a bit. He just wasn’t sure why his mother was choosing to mention them at that moment.

“It’s where your father is. Balinor is his name.”

Merlin’s heart felt like it was caught in this throat. Behind him, he could hear the others immediately begin talking amongst themselves quietly, but Merlin was too busy gaping at his mother to have any sort of idea what they were saying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Hunith said, “But it’s just been such a long time since I’ve seen him, and I miss him even now. I find it difficult to talk about.”

Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes, which snapped Merlin out of his disbelief easily enough as he rushed to soothe her as best he could. “Mother, it’s all right,” he said, reaching up with one hand and brushing her tears away gently with his thumb. “I appreciate you telling me.”

He leaned down and hugged her close, squeezing his eyes shut as he did his best to commit that exact moment to memory before he finally pulled away.

“We will see each other again,” he promised her, echoing what he had told her in their first goodbye. She nodded, and Merlin turned back to the group as they once again continued moving, leaving the Druid camp behind them.

Merlin didn’t allow himself to look back.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Arthur wanted to leave the Forest of Ascetir as quickly as possible, but Morgana talked him down from it. They didn’t really set up a camp though; instead, they left most of their belongings still packed and used only the barest of supplies, like food and making a fire.

“No need to get comfortable, since we’re leaving at dawn,” Arthur told them as they sat around the fire.

“Actually,” Morgana said, and Merlin had a very bad feeling about that. And sure enough, she was the one to raise the question that all of them, including Merlin, had been wondering since they’d left the Druids. “Do you want to go see your father, Merlin?”

For some reason, it felt more like a demand than a question. Merlin vividly remembered that she’d done this before, when she’d decided to go see the Druids and dragged him along with her. Almost on reflex, Merlin started fumbling with the magic book he’d been reading before snapping it shut again. It seemed like every chance he had to study it, something was interrupting him.

“What?” he asked, far too loudly, even though he had heard the question very well and they all knew it. Merlin deflated. “I’m not sure,” he confessed.

Morgana surveyed him almost haughtily from where she sat, and Merlin, feeling rather like a child, remained still, trying not to fidget. “I think you should,” she said finally, in a tone that meant he had no choice in the matter.

Merlin shrugged. Knowing Morgana, he probably hadn’t had a say in the matter since she had first voiced the question, but he wasn’t ready to simply agree with her. “It’s just—I don’t know. I have a father back on Earth, too, and now I’m told that my real father is, in fact, alive and living in a _cave_. When, exactly, did my life become a soap opera?”

None of them answered, because of course they had no idea what a soap _was_. Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, feeling their gazes upon him. “What would I even say?” he asked after the silence had continued on for too long. “Hello father, I met my mother and she told me to find you here. Also, she sends her love.”

Part of Merlin _did_ want to go, to see this man who was as much of a stranger to him as his mother had been when he’d first met her, but then, Merlin had no real idea of what to do with the information he’d been given.

For twenty-one years he’d been perfectly ordinary. Besides the magic, anyway. And suddenly...

“Perhaps you should consider that your father may not be living in a cave by choice, and that he would likely be grateful to see you again after all this time.”

Merlin opened his eyes, taking his hand away from his face and looking at Percival in a bit of awe. Of all people, he hadn’t expected _Percival_ to be the one to speak out, and after moment, Merlin managed to respond.

“But what if he doesn’t...like me?” Merlin asked them, timidly, feeling like a fool and knowing his face was burning out of embarrassment at the question. It _was_ something that nagged at his mind. With his mother, he’d been given no warning, no preparation; she had been the one to seek him out. Being the one doing the seeking instead...it was something of a terrifying thought.

Gwaine thumped him on the back, offering Merlin a roguish smile. “What’s not to like?” he asked, and against his will Merlin found himself smiling hesitantly in return. His gaze flickered over to Arthur, who was watching them quietly from across the fire, but the second they made eye contact Merlin looked away quickly, the flush spreading all the way up to his ears. If anything, he’d expected Arthur to argue against this, but apparently not.

“So it’s decided then,” Morgana said, even though Merlin hadn’t agreed or said anything further. But he knew the decision had already been made and so he looked at her, nodding his head in acceptance. It was probably for the best, anyway.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin gazed down at the map Arthur had spread out on the ground, watching as Arthur traced a finger across the surface of it. Why exactly they were up at the arse crack of dawn to look at a _map_ Merlin couldn’t be sure, and neither was he sure as to why Arthur seemed to be such an avid map collector, but then Merlin figured, when one did as much travelling as they did, having maps would be essential in knowing where you were going.

The map in question was one Merlin had seen before: A map of the Kingdom of Camelot. To Merlin’s knowledge, Arthur and the others hadn’t ever travelled beyond Camelot, which didn’t actually explain the large map collection, but to each their own, Merlin supposed.

“We’re here,” Arthur said as he tapped gently at the Forest of Ascetir, and suddenly the reason for the map became obvious. “The caves are _here_ ,” he dragged his finger down to them.

“We’ll have to go around the Ridge of Ascetir, past the Ridge of Chemary, and cross the Mountains of Isgard to get there. It _will_ be a dangerous journey. Not many make it out of those mountains alive, and the Forest of Balor isn’t much friendlier. There are all sorts of manner of creatures in it. Not to mention, the Caves of Balor are vast and easy to get lost in, making it hard to find what you’re looking for.”

He paused. “Those who would rather not make the journey don’t have to come,” Arthur told them.

Merlin opened his mouth to speak.

“Besides you, Merlin,” Arthur said, without even turning to look at him.

Merlin shut his mouth again, offering forth an almost hysterical chuckle. He couldn’t help that he was nervous, really—it was more the concept that once the journey was over, he would have met his father, rather than being scared of the “dangerous journey” itself.

To Merlin’s surprise though, no one else objected. They all looked calm, confident, ready to face anything, and Merlin felt warm inside. The journey was more for his sake than anything, and yet they were all willing to come along, keep him company, _be_ there for him. He offered them all weak smiles, knowing if he tried to speak the words would stick in his throat.

On the other hand Arthur didn’t seem surprised at all, and with a nod he rolled up the map, storing it away. “Well, since we’re already all packed up, I suppose it’s time we get going, then.”

* * *

The first stretch of the journey was easy enough. All they really had to do was be sure to avoid the Camelot patrols now and again, but when they finally settled down for the night with the Mountains of Isgard looming over them in the distance, Merlin knew it wasn’t going to be so easy from there on out.

 _Instinctively_ Merlin had a feeling it wasn’t going to be very easy, either, because everyone in the group seemed almost _invested_ in what was going on between him and Arthur.

When Gwaine had inquired—with a horrifying lecherous grin on his face, to boot—Merlin had been forced to tell him they hadn’t talked. He was pretty sure his blush was permanent by that point, and to deepen his embarrassment Gwaine had proceeded to tell the others and they all appeared to be _disappointed_.

So of course it was only natural that before Merlin could even consider getting himself comfortable, Morgana elbowed him in the side.

“Ow!”

She ignored him and looked pointedly toward the edge of camp where Arthur sat, having called first watch of the night (Leon had called second, and Lancelot the third), and well, Merlin got the hint.

“Fine, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes at her and pretending he didn’t notice the smug look on her face as he slowly got back to his feet. Really, he was _tired_ after walking all day, why couldn’t she take pity on him? Because she was a sadist, clearly, Merlin reminded himself.

He ambled over to where Arthur was as casually as possible, despite feeling the knowing gazes of most of his companions upon him.

Arthur, when he looked up, seemed surprised to see Merlin standing in front of him, but he was just as quick to smooth his face over. “Merlin,” he said, nodding in greeting as Merlin gingerly sat down next to him, offering him a half-smile in return.

“Peter,” Merlin returned, attempting to keep his voice as level and unaffected as possible.

“Planning on sitting watch with me?” Arthur asked, though his tone said he already knew the answer, and he chuckled when he caught sight of the horrified look on Merlin’s face before Merlin could hide it. “No, I didn’t think so. I assume Morgana sent you over?”

It was Merlin’s turn to look surprised, and Arthur scoffed. “Really, Merlin, I’d have to be _blind_ not to notice the looks the others give us.”

Merlin swallowed, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. He knew they had to talk about it _eventually_ , not just because everyone wanted them to, but Merlin would rather have been anywhere else in the world—worlds—than actually trying to have a conversation about what the kisses between them had meant.

So he took the coward’s way out and changed the topic.

“So, the Mountains of Isgard...”

Arthur sent Merlin a look like he knew _exactly_ was Merlin was playing at, but to Merlin’s eternal relief, Arthur decided to play along despite that. “Very dangerous, as I said.”

“Is it true most don’t make it out alive?”

Arthur nodded, slowly. “But _we_ are all going to make it.”

Merlin wanted to believe him, desperately, but if few people ever made it out in the first place, and they were a group of nine, Merlin wasn’t sure that was actually possible. In theory, at least one of them wouldn’t be able to come out unscathed, if not dead. Merlin wondered when he’d become such a morbid person.

Probably, he thought, after he’d seen the state of Gwaine, locked away in that dungeon. Merlin mentally waved the image away immediately, not wanting to remember it.

“We might not,” he pointed out instead, quietly.

Arthur shook his head firmly. “We _will_.”

“You can’t say that for sure.”

“Merlin—”

“Look,” Merlin interrupted, “I’ve never...I didn’t fit in, on Earth. Besides Will, I didn’t even have any friends. _This_...it’s all new to me. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

It occurred to him, after the fact, that Arthur could possibly mistake what he was saying and think that Merlin was talking about the journey ahead in some weird, metaphorical way. But no—it seemed that Arthur knew exactly what Merlin meant; had understood Merlin’s sudden desire to speak before he could change his mind, understood that Merlin had needed to get the reasons behind his cowardice out in the open before anything else was said.

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated quietly, “It’ll be all right. You can trust me.”

Arthur, Merlin realised, wasn’t talking about the journey anymore either, and that was as good an opening as any to talk.

“We should...probably discuss our... _feelings_ for each other,” Merlin admitted.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Do we have to call them _feelings_? It’s so...girly.”

Merlin raised a brow. “Well then what should we call them?” he asked.

“Our _respective opinions_ ,” Arthur said.

“Oh good Lord,” Merlin muttered under his breath, but he nodded along with Arthur anyway. “As for our _respective opinions_...” he said sarcastically, “...I like you.”

Arthur faltered for a moment. “I...am rather fond of you as well,” he managed.

Merlin gave him a look. “Really, Arthur? You can’t just like me, like a normal person?”

“So we’ve come to the conclusion that we’re fond of each other,” Arthur said stubbornly. “That’s...good.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, struggling to suppress a smile. “And knowing that—I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see what could come of this... _thing_ between us.”

“Relationship,” Arthur told him, and Merlin had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“You’ll call it a relationship, but you can’t talk about _feelings_ or say that you like me? What have I gotten myself into?”

Arthur crossed his arms defensively. “My point is, it would be a shame to let this tentative relationship come to an end so soon simply because we’re embarrassed. I would be a fool if I allowed that to happen.”

Merlin bobbed his head in agreement. “All valid points, even if you _are_ obviously emotionally constipated and something of a clotpole.”

“I beg your pardon, Merlin,” Arthur said, acting offended, but he was smiling.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The two of them got so caught up in talking that despite Merlin’s earlier plan _not_ to sit the entire watch with Arthur, it was only when Leon came over to relieve him that Merlin realised he had done exactly that.

“Sleep next to me, instead?” Arthur asked Merlin, right in front of Leon, which was insanely embarrassing—but if Merlin wanted them to work, he was going to have to get over it. It wouldn’t be much of a relationship if he could barely look Arthur in the eye due to sheer mortification.

“Okay,” he said softly, and never had he been more grateful that Leon was the only other person awake, because Leon was diplomatic enough to _not comment_.

They were more than well aware of the group’s interest in them, and they weren’t planning on hiding anything. Arthur made that more than clear when he laced his fingers with Merlin’s over breakfast the next morning, staring intently at the others as if daring them to make a comment. They didn’t, but their smiles and smirks had Merlin blushing up to his ears.

But then they were packing up again and once more setting off. They would reach the mountains sooner rather than later, and despite Arthur’s confidence, Merlin knew he was cautious; that he viewed them as something to be respected, rather than something to be conquered.

The nine of them didn’t talk much, trying to preserve their strength as best they could in order to tackle the mountains in a stronger state than they could be otherwise, and soon enough they were at the foot of the mountains, where it was drizzling. Merlin knew that the farther into the mountains they went, the worse the weather would get.

Arthur, the de facto leader as usual, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth before he stepped forward.

“All of you, be careful and watch your step. Make sure you take the same path I do, and by the gods, _look out for each other_.”

Not that they‘d really needed to be told that last bit.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

They had been prepared, but nothing, Merlin thought, could have truly prepared them for the Mountains of Isgard.

The paths were extremely steep, and hard to get a footing on. It made them hard to climb, a fact that wasn’t helped by the wind and rain that lashed about, growing stronger by the second. The earth itself was also completely unstable, and filled with numerous narrow cliff-edges. Every time Merlin saw, heard, or even _felt_ a piece of the ground chip away and fall, his heart would begin racing.

The main problem was that they couldn’t all stand together as one group when making the journey. The crumbling rocks and narrow ledges meant too much weight in one area could mean certain death, which made it fairly hard to try and look out for each other when half of them were a considerable distance from the others.

Lightning flickered and thunder crashed simultaneously, and Merlin flinched. They were close; far, far too close to the storm for comfort, and the knowledge that the weather wouldn’t let up until they were past the godforsaken mountains didn’t help, because Merlin knew they wouldn’t reach the end of them until near nightfall. Thanks to the storm, though, it already seemed like night had fallen, even though Merlin was well aware that beyond the mountains, it was still daylight.

In front of him, Merlin saw Gwen slip and his breath caught in his throat, but luckily Lancelot’s gentle but firm grip upon her arm prevented her from falling, and Merlin allowed himself to breathe again.

He wished he could use his magic to stop the storm, to make the way easier as he squinted against the rain, but even though Merlin had been studying the book of magic, he knew that stopping a storm of such magnitude in such a dangerous area would only be a waste of energy. He wouldn’t be able to hold the storm off for the entirety of the journey, and once the storm returned, he would simply be out of energy—a hindrance, incapable of moving himself along.

Slow and steady seemed to do the trick for the most part, so long as they paid attention to what parts of the path were more worn down in order to avoid them, and kept their eye on Arthur as best they could to know where they were headed.

Of course, it would be just Merlin’s luck that the second he thought that, the horrific sound of the cliff-side cracking behind him reached his ears. Apparently it caught Gwen’s attention as well, and the two of them exchanged a look of dismay as they both whirled around just in time to see Elyan begin plummeting downward; surely to his death, for the rocks below were unforgiving.

“No!” Gwen screamed. Lancelot’s steady hand was obviously the only thing preventing her from running past Merlin, but then Percival—heroic, polite, kind, strong, silent Percival, who was the last person making his way through—lunged forward, practically throwing the upper half of his body over the broken cliff and managing to grab hold of Elyan’s upper arm.

Elyan reacted instantly, refusing to be a dead weight and grabbing hold of Percival’s own arm with his free hand. Together, the two of them worked together in order to get Elyan up and out of the newly made gap in the path.

Luckily, Merlin observed, the gap itself wasn’t very big; too far to simply step over, but small enough that it could easily be jumped. The both of them did so, and Gwen immediately hugged her brother after he landed.

Of course, with Percival being built like he was, crossing the small chasm caused the ground beneath their feet to shake once he landed as well. Rather than risk the path breaking under their feet and _no_ chance of being saved, the five of them ran forward until they could once again see the backs of the others a distance ahead, and the ground felt a little more stable beneath their feet.

Elyan laughed, the sound breathless, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened, resting his hand on Percival’s forearm. “Thank you, my friend,” he said sincerely.

Percival merely nodded at him in response, and Merlin exchanged a shaky smile with Gwen, both of them not quite recovered from the scare of Elyan nearly dying. Mostly, though, Merlin was just glad that Elyan was still there with them.

“I hope you don’t plan on making a habit out of doing that,” Merlin told Elyan, who grinned.

“Can’t say that I do,” he agreed. “Arthur wouldn’t be too happy with me if I accidentally dragged you into it.”

He winked, and even in the current storm, Merlin could not stop himself from flushing.

“Come on,” he said, “We should keep going before we lose sight of the others.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

When they were deepest into the mountains, the wind picked up into a ferocious howling, so loud and vicious that none of them could even speak to each other over the noise, their words ripped away long before they ever reached another’s ears. All they could do was continue on, trying their best to keep their footing and moving as fast as they could before the wind could rip away more than just their voices.

And because nothing in Merlin’s life had been easy since the day he arrived in Camelot, and because Arthur hadn’t in fact been lying when he’d called the journey “dangerous,” when they were finally, _finally_ nearer to the other side of the mountains than not according to Arthur, once the wind had died down and the rain had picked up tenfold, that was when the mudslide came.

They all heard it; the ground was slowly become more stable the closer they got to the end of the trek, which meant they could travel closer together than before, but there wasn’t much they could do against the fast moving mud, which was—naturally—coming straight at them.

“Take cover as best you can!” Arthur shouted, but even he didn’t sound very sure; the paths didn’t leave many places to run, and it was unlikely they’d be fast enough to avoid the large mass.

But the end was almost in sight, Merlin knew. Or at least, closer in sight than it had been when they first started, and Merlin refused to be stopped by a _mudslide_ of all things, refused to let his friends get hurt by it. And so—desperately, as it came closer and closer to them—he tried to think of something, his mind going over things his magic could do.

His magic was strong, everyone said so, but Merlin had never tried stopping anything particularly heavy or strong, or things moving at a rapid speed and heading toward him, and especially not both at the same time. Stopping time wouldn’t work; he didn’t know how to move the others. None of his basic magic would be of any use, but then, the Druids had said that incantations always made things more powerful. He’d proved that himself, back in the dungeons.

He had only studied the book a little, though, only a few spells here and there, but oh God, if he didn’t try something, then he wouldn’t be able to help at all.

While he had the chance, Merlin mentally rifled through the spells he had looked at thus far, until he remembered one that could possibly work.

They were out of time.

Knowing it was his only chance, Merlin threw his hands up and mentally grabbed hold of the power he felt swirling within him, directing it toward the mudslide hurtling down toward them.

“ _Ðpstandan!_ ” he shouted, feeling his eyes burn as his magic expelled outwards toward the large mass. To everyone’s amazement—including Merlin’s own, as a part of him hadn’t really expected it to work—it stopped dead.

Merlin wouldn’t be able to hold it forever though. Even at that moment, he could feel the strength of the mudslide pushing against his magic. Gravity was an unstoppable force that _would_ eventually break through, and Merlin gritted his teeth.

“You all need to move,” he told them, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead that were just as quickly washed away by the rain.

“But what about you?” Gwen asked, sounding worried, and Merlin shook his head, keeping most of his attention focussed on holding the mudslide back.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Once you’re all out of the way, I’ll come after you. Just _hurry_ , while we still have the time.”

He could feel their gazes on him, but Merlin didn’t have the extra energy to expend _or_ the time to turn and offer them all reassuring smiles. To his annoyance, they didn’t move, apparently _all_ too worried to even consider doing so, and that really, really wasn’t helpful.

“I can’t hold this forever!” Merlin shouted at them. “Go, or there’s nothing I can do for you.”

 _That_ got them moving, thankfully. He felt one of Percival’s strong hands on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, and then he was going past Merlin until they were all finally a safe distance away—and by that, they were out of Merlin’s line of sight, so he could trust that they had gotten out of the way.

Glad that he no longer had to worry about their safety, Merlin began moving slowly, paying close attention to the mudslide. If he compared his magic to a sheet of glass blocking it from moving foward, then Merlin could already feel “cracks” forming in his magic, ready to snap under the mass amount of pressure being pushed down upon it. It wouldn’t be long before it would “shatter” and gravity would take care of the rest.

He had mostly cleared the mudslide when his magic finally gave out, and without another thought Merlin turned and ran, just barely clearing the mass of mud as it plummeted down the side of the mountain. He collapsed onto his backside, breathing heavily at the effort of using such strong magic, from using it to stop something that was unofficially beyond his level of knowledge at that point. Panic and desperation, he knew, were the only reason he had managed it; not skill or talent.

Already he could feel two sets of hands grabbing at him, lifting him to his feet, and Merlin offered tired smiles to Lancelot and Leon before he turned around to look at the others. His smile widened when he saw that they were, in fact, all okay, and then Arthur was striding over and wrapped one arm around Merlin’s waist. He pulled Merlin close and pressed a hard, almost desperate kiss to his mouth, uncaring of the others around them before he pulled away. Merlin decidedly did not whimper at the loss.

Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin’s for a moment. “You’re amazing,” he said quietly, and Merlin giggled nervously, untangling himself from Arthur reluctantly before he cleared his throat.

“Yes, well...we should just get going then, shall we?”

Arthur offered him a half-smile and then turned away, making his way back toward the head of the group. “Come on,” he called, getting them back into order, “We need to hurry if we want to make good time.”

To Merlin’s eternal relief, they all started to move quickly enough, instead of leering or smirking at Merlin as they seemed to be fond of doing.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Because of the mudslide and nearly losing Elyan, night had already fallen by the time they escaped the mountains, but only just. Though he was tired from energy he’d expended with his magic, it was easy enough for Merlin to conjure up a small ball of fire for all of them to see by as they unpacked and set up camp for the night.

They were all tired, really, obviously wanting nothing more than to sleep, but that didn’t stop them all from gathering around the fire they had made, trying to dry themselves off the best they could from the heavy soaking they’d received while up in the mountains. Merlin would have helped, but he wasn’t sure how to perform a spell like that.

By the time they finally settled down for the night, they were all _beyond_ bone-tired, barely capable of standing on their feet let alone actually being productive as they practically collapsed onto their sleep rolls. All Merlin had the energy to do before he passed out was curl into Arthur’s side, and his sleep was wonderfully dreamless.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Compared to going through the Mountains of Isgard, they made good time getting to the Forest of Balor. Of course, as Arthur had said, the forest had its own amount of danger, apparently being home to quite a few creatures that would be more than happy to kill them.

Merlin was starting to wonder why, exactly, all the dangerous creatures seemed to migrate to the land of Camelot. Though he had heard there were unicorns, as well, and _that_ was something Merlin would have liked to see.

On the surface, the forest seemed fine, peaceful and quiet; not too quiet, thankfully, with the sound of birds rustling in the trees every so often. But underneath that, Merlin felt a certain sense of unease, like something was watching them.

They were all wary, swords at the ready. _All_ of them, that was, except Merlin. He had his magic anyway, and didn’t trust himself with a sword, not with how clumsy he was. Everyone else did though, even Morgana and Gwen. It wasn’t very surprising; Morgana was, after all, Arthur’s sister, and Gwen was the blacksmith’s daughter. Both knew how to handle a sword. The group of them watched carefully for any movements, any signs of danger.

The caves were deep into the forest, with who knew how many entrances strewn about, given the fact that there were obviously other caves—an entire system of caves, at that. But all they needed to do was find the entrance to _one_ , and the entire system would be available to them.

“I found it!” Lancelot called, drawing their attention. Of course he would have been the one to find it, as the scout of the group. They made their way toward it, hoping that perhaps they had gotten lucky, that none of the creatures of the forest had tracked them down; that the guardian of the forest had left them alone.

 _Cockatrice_ , they had said, a nasty creature with claws that could gut a man in seconds and venom so potent that a single drop would mean certain death. Apparently it could also sense when people were approaching from as far as the _mountains_ , also known as _the mountains they had just came from_ , so Merlin found it strange that it hadn’t come to...greet them.

Which, because Merlin’s life was just like that, was when the cockatrice charged at them with a fearsome cry.

The nine of them scattered immediately in order to give the cockatrice more targets to choose from; to confuse it, try and frustrate it by forcing it to make a _choice_ between them all.

It seemed to be working, too, if the way it roared in what was likely anger was anything to go by, its eyes sharp as its head swung back and forth between all of them, tongue tasting the air as if that would help it decide who best to attack first.

They all waited with bated breath, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, when it finally decided on Gwen.

But Gwen knew how to handle a sword; she knew how to fight, and she faced off against the cockatrice calmly, her face only betraying the barest hint of fear as she swung at the cockatrice, warding it backwards, much to its displeasure. It roared in fury at her, trying to duck where it could, but Gwen knew when to step back—only it seemed the creature had gotten wise to her tactics, and had managed to back her into a corner.

If Merlin hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the creature was grinning.

Gwen held her ground though, sword poised and ready for action. “Stay back!” she told the others, and they all stopped where they were, realising why she’d said that. If the cockatrice came in for the kill, Gwen would still be able to injure it before that could happen.

But wonderful, dear, sweet, noble, _stupidly blinded by love_ Lancelot only saw his lady in danger and was too chivalrous to leave her to defend herself. He ran at the cockatrice from behind, ready to stab it in the back, when the cockatrice swung around abruptly and lashed out at Lancelot with its claws.

Lancelot fell almost silently, and oh God, there was blood; a lot of blood. But it was only his leg, Merlin noticed with relief, deep gashes going through his upper thigh. _Not that Lancelot can’t die from that_ he reminded himself, but at that point his chest still rose and fell. At least, Merlin thought, it hadn’t bitten him.

Not yet, at least, because that definitely seemed to be next on the cockatrice’s agenda as it stalked over to Lancelot’s prone form. Merlin took a few steps forward, wanting to help, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to look and saw Elyan, who was nodded in Gwen’s direction. And Merlin understood.

Gwen, though she now looked terrified after what the creature had done to Lancelot; terrified that she might lose him, rather than fear of the best itself, had quietly approached the cockatrice from behind while it was distracted by Lancelot. And then, with a fierce look on her face, she plunged her sword into its back.

The cockatrice _screamed_ as the sword pierced it, rearing onto its back legs for a moment before it fell forward—next to Lancelot, thankfully, instead of on him—dead.

Gwen clearly didn’t care much about her victory, for she didn’t even remove her sword from the beast, merely ran over to Lancelot’s side as tears brimmed in her eyes.

Merlin and the others once again surged into action, after that.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The wound wasn’t fatal, it was decided after they had managed to stop the bleeding, but Lancelot most definitely wouldn’t be able to walk on it for awhile—a fact that Lancelot, conscious again, didn’t look very happy about. It would be more of a hindrance than anything, considering the next leg of their journey was into the Caves of Balor.

Gwen had already scolded Lancelot, told him he was foolish for rushing to her aid without thinking. Lancelot had disagreed, saying that all he _had_ been thinking about was her safety, and Gwen had pinked and said that was no excuse, but she’d dropped a quick kiss to his cheek after and thanked him anyway.

“We’ll need to bind the leg, for now,” Leon was saying, “But I don’t think he’ll be able to come into the caves with us.”

At that, Lancelot struggled to move, even as Gwen placed her hands gently on his shoulders to prevent him doing so. Lancelot’s face contorted with pain as something likely resembling agony shot up through his leg from trying to move.

“No,” Lancelot huffed, “I will not be left outside to guard the entrance. I’m coming with you.”

“Lancelot, you can hardly _walk_ ,” Arthur pointed out.

Lancelot grimaced, looking around at the others before his gaze came to rest on Merlin. “I don’t suppose there are any healing spells in that book of yours?” he asked, the question tinged with a hint of hopefulness.

Merlin blinked, not having thought of that idea. “Oh, um, I’ll take a look,” he said, running over to where they had put their bags and rifling around until he came up with the book and walked back over to them. He sat down opposite Gwen on Lancelot’s other side and opened the book in his lap, flipping through the pages.

There was an entire section on healing spells, of course.

And since nothing in Merlin’s life ever went according to plan, that was when they all learned—Merlin included—that Merlin was _utter shite_ at healing spells. No matter what spell he used, the wound on Lancelot’s leg simply refused to be healed, much to Merlin’s frustration.

Possibly, Merlin reflected, it was because he wasn’t under great duress. Lancelot may have been mauled by a cockatrice, but he was _alive_ and it didn’t really compare to being crushed by a mudslide. Either way, it didn’t change the fact that his magic was doing absolutely nothing to help Lancelot.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin apologised after he’d been sitting there trying spell after spell for nearly twenty minutes straight, “If I could do something, I most definitely would have by now.”

Lancelot, bless him, didn’t seem angry, merely resigned as he offered Merlin a tired smile. “It’s all right, Merlin, you tried. Thank you.”

Since Merlin couldn’t heal the wound, they were back to square one; Lancelot would be very weak, so it was better not to take him with them, for his own sake as well as theirs, but Lancelot was equally adamant that he went with them.

The argument likely would have lasted awhile, but then Morgana came up with an idea.

“My magic is too weak to heal him,” she said, “But I can cast a spell to numb the pain temporarily. He won’t be as good as new, but he’ll be able to walk, at least.”

It was the best compromise they were going to get, really.

Lancelot nodded.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin had never been more glad for his magic once they were down in the caves, because they were dark and quiet and generally creepy. He couldn’t do much about the creepy factor, but at the very least the ball of fire he’d conjured up to light their way took care of the darkness, and their being in the caves alone meant their steps echoed, and their hushed words meant they could keep the silence at bay.

It also meant that for once, Merlin was basically leading the group behind Arthur, since he needed to see where the light was going. Morgana was behind him, and Lancelot was behind her, leaning heavily on Percival as he walked. Though the pain had been numbed, he still suffered from a heavy limp, and Gwen flanked his other side. Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine brought up the back of the party.

The main problem was, of course, the fact that they knew it wasn’t just one cave, but many, which meant that Balinor could quite literally be _anywhere_. And with an injured man accompanying them and a numbing spell that would eventually wear off, they didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to search for the man. If they got too far into the caves, the chances of finding an exit grew more and more unlikely, which meant they’d have no choice _but_ to keep searching. And while a ball of fire was easy to conjure, Merlin’s energy wasn’t limitless, and it wouldn’t last _forever_.

All in all, until they managed to find Balinor, their chances weren’t looking too good. Especially since if Merlin had thought the forest was bad, the others had assured him that they caves were filled with things a bit worse than a mere cockatrice—and more numerous, too.

Despite the numbing spell and the binding, though, Lancelot didn’t seem to be faring well. Sweat beaded his brow, and he was learning more heavily on Percival than he had been at the start. The wound, Merlin realised with a start, was very much so possibly infected, which of course helped nothing. It was good he had come with them in that case, though; they would have been able to do even less for him if they hadn’t been together when the infection set in.

Not for the first time, Merlin regretted that he had let Morgana rope him into searching for his mysterious father. All because he’d agreed to go find him Elyan had nearly—or, well, _had_ —fallen off a cliff, they’d _all_ nearly been crushed by a mudslide, and Lancelot had been attacked by the cockatrice. If he’d just held firm and said no, they would all be fine.

But then, a small voice at the back of Merlin’s mind pointed out they had all made the decision to come themselves. They’d known what they were getting into. _More_ than known what they were getting into; unlike Merlin, they’d all been born _and_ raised in Camelot. They had grown up knowing there was always danger on the horizon.

And people said life on Earth was hard, sometimes.

Merlin didn’t know how long they’d been walking for when Lancelot suddenly let out a cry of pain, and they all turned to look at him. Where Percival had been mostly supporting him, before, Lancelot was now slumped against his side, a worried Gwen clutching at Lancelot’s hand desperately.

“The numbing spell,” Morgana said. “It’s worn off. I could cast it again, if you’d like, though I can’t say how long it’d last for this time.”

Arthur’s lips were in a thin line as he moved toward Lancelot, nodding his head toward Morgana. “Do what you can for him,” he told her.

Merlin stood awkwardly at the edge of the group, his ball of fire the only light available to them as he glanced over his shoulder, deeper into the caves. The others were focussed on Lancelot, but Merlin wanted to keep moving, to see what lay ahead of them, at least a bit. If it hadn’t already been established that Merlin was rubbish at healing and wouldn’t be of any use, though, he’d have been right there with the others.

With a muttered spell, Merlin duplicated the ball of fire, and with a wave of his hand, had it float toward him. There, that was better; much easier to see.

He moved away from the group just a bit as he continued peering forward. They didn’t really have any markers to show where they had been compared to where they were going. Maybe if he could find a tracking spell in the book, or something...not that he was entirely sure how to track Balinor down when all he really knew was his name.

“Ugh!” Merlin shouted suddenly, feeling something sticky on his face; on his hands when he tried to brush it away. His own ball of fire hissed out of existence, leaving Merlin in a much dimmer light. The ball of fire by the others flickered dangerously as well, but Merlin managed to focus his concentration on it again before it went out.

With that accomplished, he looked to see what, exactly, he’d walked into.

_Note to self: don’t keep walking forward while lost in thought._

Whatever it was, it wasn’t just sticky, it was _strong_ , and Merlin had to physically struggle to try and get away from it. His earlier shout, along with his struggling, had drawn the attention of the others, but Lancelot needed them a lot more than Merlin did, and Merlin heard Morgana dismiss Arthur to go check on him.

Arthur looked apprehensive as he approached.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, not liking that look.

Arthur pursed his lips. “The caves are home to Balorian Spiders.”

“Spiders?” Merlin asked. Well, that explained the stickiness; spider webs were never fun to walk into, though the one he was currently entangled in seemed a bit different than the ones on Earth. “I’m not scared of spiders.”

The look on Arthur’s face didn’t change. “Well, Balorian Spiders are...”

He trailed off, and Merlin decided he definitely did not like the turn the conversation was taking. “Arthur, what are they?”

Arthur rubbed at his jaw awkwardly. “They’re kind of...giant.”

“Giant,” Merlin repeated.

“And deadly?”

“Well, that’s just great,” Merlin intoned, “Giant, deadly spiders, just what I needed.”

And then he started panicking.

“Merlin, Merlin calm down!” Arthur tried to soothe him, but Merlin had redoubled his efforts to escape the web viciously. The more the web held him back, the more the ball of fire flickered as Merlin’s fear rose, ignoring Arthur’s pleas. Spiders were okay; giant spiders, not so much, and _Oh God he was stuck in a giant spider’s web_.

The light went out.

“Hey!” Morgana’s voice could be heard, indignant, but by that point Merlin was pretty sure he was going to be spider chow and _he couldn’t fucking get out of the damn web_. No, no, he was _not_ going to allow himself to be eaten, and with a panicked cry and another vicious yank he managed to get free from the web, falling into Arthur’s arms as he began babbling somewhat incoherently. Not even the reassuring feel of Arthur’s arms around him was helping Merlin calm down much.

“Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, but Merlin only tightened his grip on Arthur’s shoulders as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness around them. “Merlin,” Arthur said, a bit louder. “They don’t like the light.”

The words only barely breached Merlin’s brain, because _giant spiders_. “What?” he asked, distantly.

“The Balorian Spiders. They’re scared of light. You need to calm down and conjure up that ball of fire again.”

Merlin nodded shakily as his panic slowly ebbed. He hadn’t been eaten yet, which was encouraging, and being free from the web was a bonus. He managed to stop leaning on Arthur as he took deep breaths, standing on his own two feet again.

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

Before he could remember the spell, though, a sound reached their ears. A loud but subtle hissing noise; the sound of _something_ —a lot of something’s—climbing up the walls rapidly.

Oh, God.

“They’re here,” Arthur said, which only confirmed Merlin’s thoughts. “It’s too late now, there will be too many of them. We’re going to have to fight them off.”

“In the dark?!” Merlin yelped, but Arthur merely nodded solemnly. “It’s our only chance, unless you can summon up a big enough light, or even an entire blaze.”

Merlin, unfortunately, had no idea how to do either of those things. All he could do was shake his head.

Arthur grimaced, gripping Merlin’s arm and tugging him back over to where the others were. “Swords at the ready,” Arthur told them. “Merlin, you keep back with Lancelot. He can’t fight in his condition.”

Possibly Lancelot would have argued, but the pain seemed to have rendered him mostly unconscious, so Merlin didn’t hesitate to agree.

His eyes had finally adjusted to the dark enough that Merlin could see—and that was a very bad thing, he decided immediately. He could see more than he’d ever wanted to see in that moment, as the spiders began climbing up over the wall and reaching the same level the group of nine were at.

They had glowing red eyes, which wasn’t really a comfort, and while they weren’t Shelob or Aragog sized like Merlin had initially been fearing, they were big enough that the entire situation was fairly traumatising. It wasn’t like he’d be able to kill them by stepping on them.

And there were _hundreds_ of them, it seemed.

The spiders were fast, moving forward rapidly, but once Arthur’s sword sliced through the air and sliced one of _them_ in half, the rest of the spiders grew a bit more wary, though the fact that the hissing sounds they emanated increased probably meant it had only pissed them off, really.

The seven of them warded off the spiders as best they could, killing them when the opportunity presented itself, and making sure to keep back in order to avoid being bitten. But their energy was not limitless, and they were far outnumbered by the spiders. It seemed a hopeless battle.

But then hope came, in the sound of a booming voice that echoed across the caverns.

“Stand back, young ones!”

They didn’t hesitate to do so, and mere seconds later a large burning ball of fire landed before them, hitting the attacking spiders.

The spiders shrieked in agony as the fired burned them, curling their legs in as they were charred to a crisp before they keeled over. More fireballs followed the first, each individual one killing large groups of the spiders, until eventually the remaining spiders turned tail and fled, scurrying back the way they had come, down the wall, back down into the pitch black darkness, leaving them alone.

Instead of hissing, the cave was instead filled with the sound of...wings? beating against the air, and then without warning a massive beast flew in from the outside cavern and landed heavily in front of them, folding up its wings and surveying them through burning amber eyes.

“No _way_ ,” Merlin stage whispered.

It was a dragon.

“I will take you to see Balinor now,” it— _he_ —said.

* * *

Either the dragon was small enough to fit in the caves, or the caves were big enough to fit the dragon, for the beast walked through passageways rather easily, his scales not even brushing up against the walls. Perhaps, Merlin thought, he had forcibly made the caves big enough to account for his considerable size. He did not speak much as he guided them, which Merlin was grateful for, because seeing a dragon had been enough of a shock—a talking dragon was a bit beyond that.

The others had looked stunned too, though, when they had seen the dragon; even Lancelot, though his haze of pain—he had passed out eventually, and Percival had been given the task of carrying him. Merlin found that strange, considering that given all the _other_ manner of creatures Camelot had, a dragon should have been the most obvious one. And yet, they all stared at the dragon as if they could not believe what they were seeing, and Merlin found himself wondering.

“Why do you all look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Merlin asked, leaning over to whisper into the question into Arthur’s ear and pointedly trying to ignore the way Arthur shivered, because okay, no—Merlin was _not_ going to allow his thoughts to go in that direction just then.

“Probably because we thought it would have been far more likely _to_ see a ghost,” Arthur told him. “To our knowledge...Uther had all the dragons killed.”

Merlin looked sceptical. “This one looks pretty alive.”

“Yes, Merlin, I can see that, thank you.”

“It’s not like he could have gotten _all_ of them.”

“Trust me, Merlin, he was very thorough.”

“Yeah well, dragons don’t even _exist_ on Earth, so.”

Seeing as how Arthur had dismissed Earth as a primitive place devoid of magic or anything remotely interesting, besides maybe television—something Merlin found laughable; at least Earth had _indoor plumbing_ —Arthur didn’t look all that surprised. Instead, he nodded, leaning even closer to Merlin. “Uther feared the dragons. They’re creatures of magic, see. Very intelligent, very powerful.”

“We’re also not deaf,” the dragon said pointedly, though he did not look back at them and continued walking forward.

Arthur stiffened and pulled away from Merlin, tightening his lips minutely. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I did not mean to be rude.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” the dragon said. “You young ones, always lacking manners.”

Arthur bristled, but didn’t respond; rather wisely, Merlin thought, because angering a dragon wouldn’t have been the smartest thing he’d ever done. Instead, he changed the topic.

“How much longer before we reach Balinor?” he asked, obviously attempting to keep his own temper in check, though Merlin could see Arthur gritting his teeth together.

“And so impatient, too,” the dragon mused, very obviously not answering the question.

“It’s just, our friend is injured, you see,” Merlin piped up.

“I am not blind either, young warlock, I am well aware of your companion’s injury.”

Merlin started upon hearing the dragon call him such, but then, the dragon was a creature of magic. Of course he’d know of Merlin’s own magic, just like Merlin could sense other people with magic.

But his concern for Lancelot was greater than that.

“It’s infected, you know. People can _die_ from that,” Merlin snapped, finding himself annoyed with the beast, and then froze as he realised what he’d just done.

Gwen made a frightened sound, and he could feel the eyes of most of the others upon him. Okay, so mentioning the dying thing probably hadn’t been very smart. But then to everyone’s surprise, the dragon merely started laughing, the sound echoing through the caverns.

“You are your father’s son,” the dragon hummed, and Merlin blinked, not sure how to take that. He had no idea if it was good or bad. The laughing implied good, but who knew what a dragon was thinking? Still, Merlin felt oddly pleased that though he had never met the man, those that knew him could see something of him in Merlin. “You need not worry,” the dragon continued, “Balinor will be able to heal him when we arrive.”

That was good to know, but Merlin would rather have known _when_ that would be. It felt like they had been walking for ages already, and who knew how much longer it _would_ be, given that they were in the _Caves of Balor_ , which they acutely knew were wide, sprawling, and very much so vast. Not even having a guide to lead them to where they were going made them any less impatient to get there, for Lancelot’s sake if nothing else.

Silence fell upon the group again. Asking the dragon anything was clearly useless, unbearably cryptic as he was proving to be, and anything they said to each other would be overheard by the dragon, which wasn’t particularly comforting.

It didn’t take all that long for Merlin to wonder if perhaps the dragon was lying; if he was merely leading them deep, deep into the caves where no one would ever find them, with every intention of eating them afterwards. His mother hadn’t mentioned anything about a _dragon_ , though there was always a possibility that the dragon was a new thing, or perhaps it had slipped her mind entirely, preoccupied as she had seemed to be about Balinor.

But Merlin didn’t really want to entertain thoughts of being eaten by an intelligent creature that was capable of speaking, and eventually he spoke up again, his curiosity winning out over his annoyance.

“What’s Balinor like?” he asked.

“Perhaps you should ask him that yourself,” the dragon responded, and it was then that Merlin noticed the dragon had led them all to the biggest cave Merlin had seen thus far. Big enough to contain at least seven dragons.

The dragon bowed his head and lowered his body for a moment before he stepped aside, and then there was a man standing before them instead.

Oh God, this had to be his father. Balinor.

Merlin thought he might be sick.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Time had not been kind to Balinor, and it seemed that he knew it. His hair was long and scraggly, tinged with a heavy amount of grey, and he looked much older than he actually was, with a sort of resigned weariness visible on his face most of the time.

But Merlin was nearly staggered by the magic he could sense roiling off his father in waves. He had already gathered that his father had magic, from the dragon’s words about healing Lancelot, but it was a _different_ sense that Merlin was getting confused by. Part of it did have the same feeling as Morgana’s magic, as the other magic users, but there was a deeper sense of it, beyond just _magic_ , though Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

Unfortunately for Merlin, Balinor was also a gruff man who didn’t speak much beyond to call them all “boy” or “girl” or to boss them around when it came to settling Lancelot down so he could get to work on healing him. Though, that could probably be attributed to the fact that he’d been living in a cave with only a dragon for company and no real social interaction.

But for all his brusqueness, Balinor was gentle with Lancelot as he spread some sort of thick green paste over the injury and said words that were tinged with magic over it. He didn’t want the others getting very close before Lancelot was healed, but he did allow Gwen to sit next to Lancelot and hold his hand in silent vigil. The others were forced to sit and watch from a distance away, trying to ignore the fact that the dragon was quietly but intently watching all of _them_.

That was much more difficult. The dragon had a very strong presence, and it wasn’t exactly small; and Merlin couldn’t be sure, but it kind of felt like the dragon was staring the most at him and Arthur. If by some chance it magically knew about the two of them, Merlin was going to die of mortification.

After thirty or so minutes of tending to Lancelot, Balinor finally approached the seven of them, a solemn look on his face. “Your friend will be all right in a few days.”

As one, the group seemed to relax, their relief at hearing that Lancelot was going to be fine obvious.

Meanwhile, Balinor seemed to tense up in contrast, and the dragon made a rumbling sound that could have been a chuckle. “Well, go on then,” the dragon encouraged, the words clearly directed toward Balinor.

Balinor responded shortly, with a sharp “ _You will be silent_ ,” and Merlin stared in shock as the dragon unexpectedly did just that—lowered his head and fell silent, though his still-open eyes were filled with reproach. He wasn’t sure why the beast had listened, but Merlin could feel the power lacing the words. They didn’t sound like magic, and yet, they were so obviously _beyond_ mere magic.

His companions, on the other hand, looked confused, though Merlin couldn’t be sure why—or at least, he wasn’t up until Morgana stiffened, her eyes growing wide. “Dragonlord,” she said. Merlin turned to look at her in puzzlement, but she was simply gazing at Balinor, and so Merlin turned back to look at the man, who sighed and inclined his head heavily.

“The very last of my kind, as is Kilgharrah.”

Merlin almost asked who Kilgharrah was, but then it occurred to him that Balinor meant the dragon. For some reason, Merlin hadn’t really expected him to have a name, had only thought of him as _dragon_ in his head, but then he supposed, him having a name made more sense. But that left the question—

“What’s a Dragonlord?”

The other simply stared blankly at him, as if they couldn’t believe he’d asked that, which Merlin thought was a bit unfair. He was from a place that didn’t have dragons, so why the hell would he know what a Dragonlord was?

“Dragonlords are men who have the power to converse with dragons, as well as tame them,” Balinor said, his gaze firmly upon Merlin, and against his will Merlin couldn’t look away. “They are brothers to the dragons, connected by their very soul.”

Even as Balinor spoke, Merlin found that he kept searching his father’s face, trying to find a bit of himself in it. With his mother, it had been easy; Merlin had her hair colour, her eyes, her smile, but in this man, as much of a stranger to him as his mother had originally been, Merlin was struggling to see any similarities. The dragon had said he was his father’s son, but Merlin had yet to figure out just what he had meant, still didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

It occurred to Merlin that he and Balinor hadn’t actually discussed the whole “I’m your father/I’m your son” bit (and please, no Star Wars references), though Merlin was sure Balinor had to _know_ , if the _dragon_ knew.

The silence had hung over the group for too long though, and so Merlin grasped for the tail end of the conversation. “And you’re the last?” he asked, voice closer to a whisper than not.

Balinor did not respond but to nod and sigh heavily, and Merlin knew that feeling; to be the only person, to realise how utterly alone you were in the world. But if Balinor and Kilgharrah were connected by their _souls_ , then at least Balinor had had someone—someone to share his pain with, in that loneliness. Merlin had never had anyone like that, and that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But then again, given what Merlin had seen and heard from the dragon so far, maybe that wasn’t much of a blessing for Balinor.

“Is...is that the reason you’re here?” Merlin asked, tentatively. _Here_ , in the cave, with the last dragon.

Balinor once again raised his head to look Merlin in the eye. “I managed to avoid Uther,” he spat the name like it was a disease, “And his reign of terror for many years. But then, eight years ago, Kilgharrah came to warn me that it was no longer safe. Your mother...she wanted to come with me, but I couldn’t do that to her. I needed her to be safe, so I took her to stay with the Druids. Has she...” he hesitated. “Has she been well?”

Merlin couldn’t help but smile softly at the question. “She said she misses you.”

Balinor nodded, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “That’s...that is good to know.”

Merlin hummed vaguely in response, but his mind was working overtime as his brain registered what Balinor had said. Eight years ago—what was it about eight years ago that had changed everything? Arthur and Morgana, along with Leon, had fled for their lives eight years ago, and Gwen and Elyan had done the same thing not long after. And there Balinor was, forced to go into hiding with the dragon, _eight years ago_.

According to everyone, Uther had gone mad after the death of his wife, but that had been before Merlin was even born—so what was it about eight years ago that was so special? What had worsened in the time since the Queen’s death?

But that really wasn’t the time for questions like that, Merlin thought. Not that he really knew what _to_ say. Going there had been Morgana’s idea, not his, and faced with his father, Merlin found himself floundering.

“I’m just gonna go—” he paused, voice stilted. “Check on Lancelot.”

Never mind that Balinor had told them to stay away until he was healed; Merlin got up and hurried away from the others, feeling his ears burn with shame at his obvious running away.

Thankfully no one stopped him from doing so, or even called him out on it, and Merlin quietly sat down next to Gwen, who was holding Lancelot’s hand as he slept and looking upon him with a myriad of emotions on her features, of which concern and fondness seemed to be the most prominent. She offered Merlin a brief smile as he settled in next to her, but did nothing else, for which Merlin was appreciative. Despite the distance, the cave echoed, and he knew Gwen had heard the entire conversation from where she sat.

Merlin could hear it, as well; since he had left, Morgana had apparently decided to pick up the slack, and he could hear her voice as she asked Balinor questions about being a Dragonlord, about the dragon, washing over him. He knew it would be wise to probably pay attention to the rumbling responses Balinor was giving, to learn more about his father as a whole, but well, Merlin was finding the entire situation even harder to cope with than he had when first dealing with his mother.

It didn’t help that his mother had at least had normal human non-dragon interaction for the past eight years, whereas Balinor was...well, he wasn’t exactly the friendliest person around. Merlin was grateful he had helped them, but like with his mother, he would need more time to adapt.

In Balinor’s case, probably a _lot_ more time than he’d ever needed with Hunith.

And then there was the dragon. Merlin suppressed a shudder remembering the way it had stared at him and Arthur with what had seemed to be a look of intrigue. He still fervently hoped that it had no idea about that, but knowing his luck, the dragon knew exactly what was going on. It was bad enough that the rest of their companions held such a disturbing amount of interest; Merlin had no desire for an outsider—a _dragon_ —to join the ranks of the strange “Merlin and Arthur fanclub” that had apparently been formed.

At this rate, Balinor would be the next to join, and Merlin _definitely_ did not want his estranged father being a part of it. It was bad enough that his mother had seemed oddly keen on the idea, whenever Arthur had come up in their talks. It was lucky they’d left before she’d figured out the change in their relationship; Merlin would never have lived it down, he thought. Merlin would have hoped that his first relationship wasn’t something that everyone felt the need to scrutinise and get involved in, but clearly it was far too late for that.

Merlin was jerked out of his thoughts by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, turning to see Elyan standing there. He offered his sister a tight, tired smile in greeting before focussing his gaze on Merlin. “Balinor suggests that we all get some rest,” Elyan said, and Merlin found himself nodding in response. It was late, and they had been walking all day; they were all tired.

Gwen was, of course, going to sleep by Lancelot’s side, though not so close as to disturb the healing process. Merlin couldn’t help thinking that if Gwen was a Lady, or Lancelot a Knight, or they weren’t renegades on the run, such a thing would be frowned upon, or seen as scandalous. As it was, Lancelot was far too noble, not to mention injured; Gwen’s virtue was as safe as was possible.

Merlin got to his feet, only just starting to realise how tired he really was; he bid Gwen goodnight quietly and followed after Elyan. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Balinor watching him, but Merlin only moved quicker, now practically scurrying after Elyan and too tired to care about how obvious his cowardice was.

They’d wordlessly agreed that they were all going to sleep as far away from the dragon as possible while still keeping Lancelot and Gwen in sight.

Merlin wasn’t sure if they were just wary of the beast or something more. For Merlin’s part, it was definitely the latter; he didn’t care if the dragon talked, or if he was intelligent, or that Balinor could apparently control him, Merlin didn’t trust the look in his eyes when he gazed at him, gazed at Arthur. But either way, it meant the group of them had relocated themselves to the same general area to sleep.

Merlin offered Elyan a smile and then moved over to where Arthur was spreading out both his and Merlin’s sleeping bags for the night. Most of their belongings had already been unpacked, it seemed, because they would be there for a few more days yet while Lancelot healed.

Arthur was tense; but then, Merlin reflected, Arthur was completely out of his element. The caves, while many, were a system, a maze even, easy to get lost in, and dark. There was no place to run once trapped inside. Merlin felt a twinge of regret that he was the cause behind Arthur’s uneasiness, but a larger, more selfish part of him was grateful that Arthur had come along at all. He and the others could just have easily sent Merlin along his merry way to see Balinor and never looked back.

To his surprise, though, the first words out of Arthur’s mouth had nothing to do with his own obvious discomfort.

“How are you?” Arthur asked, in a stunning show of emotional depth and caring. Merlin didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“I’ve been better,” Merlin admitted.

“You’ve looked better.”

Maybe not _that_ deep. “Thanks,” he said wryly.

Arthur seemed to realise his mistake. “No, I just meant...”

Merlin blinked as Arthur reached out carefully and caressed his cheek lightly with his thumb. Arthur wasn’t much of a tactile person, Merlin knew, so if Arthur was making the effort to do so, he _must_ look worse than he thought.

He placed his hand gently on Arthur’s wrist, and Arthur stopped moving his thumb, trying to pull away, obviously thinking Merlin didn’t want it. Merlin merely tightened his grip, shaking his head. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Arthur relaxed minutely before resuming the action.

Around them, the others prepared to sleep, thankfully ignoring the both of them sitting there quietly as they simply remained close to each other, basking in the other’s presence.

Eventually though, Morgana—of course, it would be Morgana—ruined it by calling out an “Okay, you two, get some rest already.”

He’d deny it, Merlin knew, but Merlin could _see_ that Arthur was blushing, no matter what Arthur would say. This time, Merlin let Arthur pull his hand away properly before he lay down, stretching out on his sleeping bag. Merlin continued to sit there for a moment, until Arthur reached out and yanked Merlin down next to him, causing Merlin to fall half on top of him.

“Sorry!” he shout-whispered, but Arthur simply shrugged and made no move to push him off. Even so, Merlin had no plans to sleep _on top_ of Arthur—just the thought made him embarrassed, he was _such_ a virgin—and so he moved, instead laying down next to him as per usual.

He only jumped a little—he would forever deny squealing—when Arthur rolled over and threw his arm across Merlin, drawing him close and _holy crap_ , they were cuddling. Arthur was capable of cuddling? And Merlin was the little spoon, oh God—

“Shut up,” Arthur murmured sleepily into his ear. “I can hear you thinking from here.”

Merlin giggled nervously and forced himself to relax in the embrace, instead merely focussing on Arthur’s warmth and allowing himself to sink deep into the depths of sleep.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Even though they weren’t going anywhere for a few days while Lancelot healed, years and years of being on the run meant everyone’s biological clocks were programmed for them to rise early no matter what time they went to sleep. Merlin's own internal clock had begun to adjust as well. Back on Earth he hadn’t been a particularly heavy sleeper, but he’d _loved_ to sleep in whenever he’d had the chance, whereas now he practically rose with the sun like all of his companions.

And he didn’t even complain about it.

Much.

Even so, the others had years of experience in doing so compared to him, so even when Merlin woke up at what seemed like the crack of dawn some days, he was almost always the last one to wake up regardless.

That day wasn’t any different. When Merlin’s eyes did in fact open, his back was cold, and the cave was mostly quiet.

Not silent; Merlin could hear soft echoed shuffles, the rumbling sounds the dragon made as he shifted, the faint sounds of people talking; but it was all distant, nothing like they usually were.

Getting to his feet, Merlin looked around the cave to see where the others were as he stretched. Gwaine was sitting a reasonable distance away from the dragon, surveying him with a look on his face like he was debating poking at him with a stick, or something equally stupid.

But Merlin figured Gwaine had enough self-preservation not to do that, regardless of how much he wanted to, probably helped along by the fact that the dragon was staring Gwaine down intently in return, shifting his large mass every now and again as if to warn Gwaine that it would not tolerate any idiocy.

Something like that, at least. Merlin wasn’t really sure why he thought he knew what the dragon’s body language meant, but it wasn’t something he cared to think about in depth.

On the other side of the cave, he could see Percival and Leon sitting on the ground with what appeared to be every single sword the group owned spread out before them, sharpening them carefully. It was a nice gesture, not that Merlin had a sword to be grateful about, but at the very least he knew that blunt swords wouldn’t be of much use. They didn’t seem to be talking much, but then, one rarely did speak when in the company of Percival, who so rarely spoke up in the first place, and Leon was the type who would be happy to sit in companionable silence rather than fill it with mindless chatter like Merlin would have felt compelled to do.

When Merlin looked over to where Lancelot was resting, he was startled to see Elyan sitting by his side instead of Gwen. A closer look around the rest of the cave revealed no Gwen in sight anywhere; or Arthur, or Morgana now that he thought about it. Merlin walked over to the two men, uttering a greeting but choosing not to sit down next to Elyan.

Lancelot already looked much better than he had just the day prior, and he seemed—not annoyed, Lancelot never seemed annoyed by _anything_ , but he appeared mildly put out by the fact that he was confined to bed rest until he was completely healed.

In spite of that, he smiled when he saw Merlin, because Lancelot did things like that. Elyan in turn nodded his head and responded to Merlin’s unasked question without being prompted.

“Balinor left not long ago to get us food. Gwen offered to go with him. Apparently she wasn’t content just sitting around doing nothing.”

He chuckled at that, as if Gwen _ever_ sat around just doing nothing, or being a damsel in distress, and the thought caused Merlin to laugh as well; naturally, she would have wanted to help in any way she could. Lancelot’s smile widened, becoming that much more affectionate as he thought of his lady love.

“That was nice of her,” Merlin said, and Lancelot was practically _glowing_ as he beamed.

“Guinevere has a good heart,” he responded, sounding as sure as he ever did, as if that fact was completely unchangeable. He was right, if one thought about it, and Merlin said so. Elyan smiled at that. The two of them really were completely devoted to her; Gwen couldn’t have asked for a better brother or a better soulmate. It sounded ridiculous, it really did, but Merlin had no doubt whatsoever in his mind that they _were_ soulmates, that they were completely meant for each other, time and time again.

And not that Merlin didn’t love Gwen, but he hadn’t exactly gone over to gush about all her wonderful traits, so he could just leave them to that.

“Have either of you seen Arthur?” he asked, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice and internally wincing as he _heard_ himself fail miserably.

Unfortunately, the both of them shook their heads. “He was talking to Balinor, before he left with Gwen. Then Morgana pulled him aside and I haven’t seen either of them since,” Elyan said. “But I don’t think they just up and left, so they’re probably somewhere reasonably close by.”

“Thanks,” Merlin told him, and though he knew he could just wait until Arthur and Morgana returned, he wasn’t in the mood to patiently sit around until that time came. For all he knew, they wouldn’t be back until after Balinor returned, and who even knew when _that_ would be, especially if he had only left recently. Thus, Merlin wasn’t too bothered with wandering off to go look for them.

“Hey, Merlin!” he heard Gwaine call as he walked away, and Merlin paused, turning to look over his shoulder—and cringing when he noticed Gwaine winking lasciviously at him, because Gwaine only upped the ante like that when it involved—

“Make sure you take good care of Arthur, yeah?”

“I’m ignoring you, Gwaine,” Merlin said, and the sound of Gwaine’s laughter chased after him as he fled.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin thought that maybe he was crazy, but he was pretty sure that the more time he spent around Arthur ever since they had first started their... _relationship_ , his magic grew more and more adept at sensing where Arthur was at any given time. Which even if it wasn’t crazy to those in Camelot, _Merlin_ sure felt crazy just thinking about it, because it kind of seemed like his magic was some sort of creepy stalker that always followed Arthur around without Merlin’s permission.

He’d even had to reign in his magic from reaching out and wrapping itself around Arthur, sometimes. Arthur may not have been magic, but it’d be damn near impossible for him _not_ to feel something like that, and Merlin didn’t really want to have to explain that his magic apparently fancied the pants off of Arthur.

Thankfully not literally.

It was made even stranger by the fact that Arthur and Merlin were basically “together” so it had no real reason to pine after Arthur, or whatever the hell it was doing. Apparently, that was the price of some stupid religion, or the Old Religion, or _whatever_ it was, deciding he was the perfect host for lots and lots (and _lots_ ) of magic.

His magic hadn’t really ever _seemed_ sentient back on Earth; not like it did in Camelot. But then, his magic had originated there, Merlin supposed. Maybe it was just happy to be home. Not that that explained the creepy magic infatuation with Arthur, but whatever, Merlin had no excuses for his magic.

Either way, Merlin could at least thank it for the fact that it practically led him right to Arthur—or it led him to the area Arthur was in, at least, because Merlin knew he was nearby. He was just about to turn round a corner when Arthur’s voice drifted toward him.

“Not yet, Morgana,” he was saying. He sounded tense; angry even. It was a combination Merlin had heard many times since he’d first come to Camelot, but never to such a degree as it was currently. It practically _emanated_ off him, and Merlin couldn’t even _see_ him.

He could sense Morgana’s anger and annoyance as well, but not as sharply as he could Arthur’s. “You _have_ to _tell him_ , Arthur.”

“And I will!” Arthur snapped back, voice rising as his anger rose with it. “Just...not yet.”

“Coward,” Morgana practically spat at him.

Merlin found himself extremely confused by the conversation. On the one hand, eavesdropping was rude and he wanted step in, to let them know he was there, but on the other hand, who was _him_? Merlin had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who, and it was the desire to find out if he was right that kept him from alerting them to his presence.

“I’m not,” Arthur was protesting, but Morgana simply scoffed.

“Maybe you can lie to yourself, Arthur, but you can’t lie to me,” she said seriously.

“Why?” Arthur asked, voice harsh. “Because of your Sight?”

Morgana laughed, the sound cold. “Hardly. You’ve never been able to lie to me since we were children, Arthur.”

Arthur was silent for a long moment, and Merlin found himself holding his breath as he pressed closer to the rock between him and the siblings, as if that would help him hear them better. But in the end, Arthur just made a strangled noise of what was probably frustration.

“I refuse to talk about this,” he said, and then there was the sound of footsteps, and _shit_. Merlin pulled back away from the rock wall just as Arthur came around the corner, stopping short at the sight of Merlin.

“Merlin,” he said, voice weak before he cleared his throat and straightened up to his full height. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice stronger now.

 _Shit_ Merlin repeated in his head. “Er, nothing,” he said out loud. “I was just...looking for you.” And since Arthur probably knew that he had overheard them, Merlin wasn’t even going to attempt to hide that fact. “Um, what were you talking about?”

He knew he was prying, but Merlin was too curious not to ask. It had been one of his fatal flaws since he was a child, according to his Earth mother.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and Merlin fidgeted in place. “Nothing,” Arthur said eventually, but his tone was so unconvincing and Merlin had heard enough that he knew it was a complete and utter lie.

That really, really bothered him.

He had made a point of being as honest with Arthur as he could, and it seemed like Arthur had been trying to give him the same courtesy as of late, so Arthur blatantly lying to his face most definitely rubbed Merlin the wrong way.

Merlin opened his mouth to argue the fact, but before he could get even one word out, Morgana appeared from around the corner as well, stepping in before Merlin could say something that he would probably have regretted. In retrospect, at least.

“Don’t worry, Merlin, it’s nothing to trouble yourself with. Just my idiot brother being more of an idiot than usual.”

The glower she sent in Arthur’s direction, though, told another story. But Arthur was scowling in return, and Merlin wasn’t going to argue with both Arthur _and_ Morgana about what he had overheard, so he simply nodded instead, going along with it.

Morgana smiled. “Wonderful. So, shall we head back now? No point standing around here.”

She didn’t wait for a response and simply walked away, leaving Merlin and Arthur to exchange bemused glances before following along after her.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

By the time they arrived back at Balinor’s—or was it the dragon’s?—cave, Balinor and Gwen had returned from getting food for the group.

“Not long ago,” Gwen told them when they had finally settled down and she’d handed them all something to eat before she sat down between Merlin and her brother. Given the choice, she’d probably have sat by Lancelot, but as Balinor was busy checking on his injuries and reapplying the paste from before, Gwen didn’t want to interfere.

Arthur and Morgana were sitting across from them, Morgana’s lips drawn into a thin line and looking unhappy as she picked delicately at the food before her, and Arthur was pointedly avoiding everyone’s gaze as he tore into his meal with more annoyance than anything. Their moods radiated, and the others had all picked up on the cue not to talk to them if they could avoid it; the chances of getting their heads bitten off were high.

On Elyan’s other side, Gwaine was laughing and telling him all about how the dragon had, in the end, threatened to step on him or set him on fire if he didn’t stop bothering him. It seemed not even the dragon had the eternal patience needed to put up with Gwaine, and from the way Elyan was also laughing in response, he hardly seemed surprised.

Leon and Percival had finished sharpening everyone’s swords in the time Merlin had been gone, but considering there wasn’t much danger to be found in a cave where both a Dragonlord and a dragon resided—beyond maybe the actual dragon, and a Dragonlord could easily take care of that—they had simply placed the weapons among their things instead and promptly dug into their food with fervour. The two of them had been given the most food among the group, which made sense because while Percival was built like a tank, Leon almost rivalled him in both height and build.

Except for maybe his biceps.

They were almost done eating by the time Balinor approached them, offering Gwen reassurances about Lancelot when she stood up that made her smile just a bit brighter.

Of course with Gwen going back to where Lancelot was, that meant the seat between Elyan and Merlin was once again wide open, and it was only logical for Balinor to sit there—only for him to surprise Merlin when he didn’t, instead choosing to settle down on Percival’s far side, not at all intimidated by the combined mass of the two men next to him.

Percival—being a quiet, polite sort—didn’t seem to mind the Dragonlord sitting next to him. He merely nodded his head at him and then went back to finishing up his food while Balinor split some bread in half for himself. Merlin found himself caught off guard that the ten of them had an almost easy balance between them, not counting the tension on Morgana and Arthur’s end due to whatever their argument had been about. Ignoring that, the air was not as heavy as it had been the night before, as if Merlin’s companions had adapted to Balinor’s presence there.

Merlin wasn’t entirely comfortable, but then, Merlin could see the dragon watching them carefully even as he devoured a... _something_...with relish. Merlin wasn’t going to look in that direction anymore, because, disgusting. And while he hadn’t spoken to his father much, still wasn’t sure how to act, he’d have taken sitting next to Balinor and exchanging stilted conversation over feeling the intense golden gaze of the dragon upon them all.

Conversation was also easy, flowing between them all casually bar Arthur, Morgana, and Balinor, and apparently the dragon felt left out, because once he had finished his meal, his maw stained red with blood (Merlin felt queasy at the sight), he decided to speak up.

Part of Merlin would always desperately wish that Kilgharrah had kept his mouth shut.

“So, young warlock, have you decided to come into your destiny, yet?”

Merlin could practically _feel_ everyone turn their heads to look at him as one.

“Um,” Merlin said eloquently. “What?”

He wished that he wasn’t the only young, male person with magic in the proximity and that the dragon hadn’t already called him exactly that before, so it wouldn’t be so obvious that the dragon was clearly talking to him.

“Your destiny,” the dragon repeated, “To unite Albion, of course.”

At that, Balinor interfered. “Kilgharrah—”

The dragon rumbled in annoyance, smoke curling out of its nostrils. “I have kept my silence, as you demanded. Now it is time for me to have my questions answered.”

It seemed Balinor had no argument for that, and so he sighed, inclining his head and making no further moves to stop the dragon.

 _Hi, um, still confused here_ , Merlin thought wryly to himself. “I thought my destiny was to save the magic users from Uther,” he said instead.

The dragon chuckled. “Yes, of course. And once you do that, you and the young Pendragon shall come together and unite the whole of Albion, as well.”

Arthur froze.

Merlin tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Er...to my knowledge there isn’t a young Pendragon. I thought Uther killed them when they were just a child.”

The dragon simply blinked at Merlin, and Merlin felt all the more awkward for knowing they had an audience to the entire conversation.

“...didn’t he?” Merlin asked cautiously, and his stomach plummeted when the dragon shook his head in response. His eyes immediately searched out Arthur’s, since Arthur had been the one to tell him about Uther’s heir, but Arthur was completely unmoving, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at Merlin in horror.

“Peter?” Merlin asked, his voice just barely above a whisper, but when Arthur didn’t respond, the truth hit Merlin at the speed of a freight train. Merlin got to his feet, stumbling back away from the others; if he looked around, he could see that aside from Morgana, Leon, Balinor, and the dragon, all the others seemed to be just as floored as Merlin felt.

“So that’s what Morgana meant? _You have to tell him_?” Merlin asked, hoping that Arthur would deny it, and yet knowing deep down that he wouldn’t. “When _were_ you planning on telling me? After you became _King_?”

“Merlin—” Arthur tried, but Merlin just shook his head back and forth.

“We talked about _trust_ , Arthur. _Honesty_. And you’ve been lying—”

His voice broke, and he tried valiantly not to notice how Arthur flinched. Knowing Arthur had lied; Merlin couldn’t bring himself to call him Peter. Calling him that felt—stupid. _He_ felt stupid, for letting himself fall into that situation.

“I can’t do this right now.”

He took off running without another word, ignoring Arthur shouting his name behind him. He just kept running and didn’t look back.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“Merlin, please, try to let me explain.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Arthur.”

Merlin had stopped running eventually, not wanting to get lost in the caves, because that _definitely_ wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. Instead, he had merely curled up in a sheltered area, eyes wet with tears as his mind ran through all the memories he had of his time with the group. He remembered the first time he had met Arthur, forced to wonder just how much of it had been lies. Arthur had even lied about something as simple as his _last name_.

But sure enough, eventually Arthur had found him, had obviously chased after him, and he wanted to _explain_ it all to Merlin. Merlin didn’t want to hear it.

Arthur crouched down before him, and Merlin tried to scramble back farther, only to be prevented from doing so by the solid rock wall behind him. Maybe if he cast an invisibility spell, or perhaps something to allow him to phase through rock...

“Merlin, _please_ ,” Arthur said. Merlin would likely have been awed that Arthur had resorted to begging, but then he felt Arthur’s hand on his knee and Merlin jerked.

“Don’t!” he yelled, the force of his voice causing Arthur to flinch back on instinct and thankfully not move in again. “Just...don’t touch me,” Merlin said, his voice softer this time.

Arthur sighed, but he nodded in agreement. “Can’t we talk about this, though?”

Merlin shook his head—he had meant it, he didn’t think there was anything to talk about. Even Arthur looking completely desperate, or the fact that Merlin felt like his heart was being squeezed far too tightly for comfort, wasn’t going to make him change his mind.

If Arthur had given him some time to sort out his thoughts, Merlin might have been more willing. But not right at that second, not when the betrayal still cut so deeply, when the wound was so raw and fresh.

Arthur, it seemed, did not understand that, because the desperation on his face now held a tint of anger to it. “Damn it, Merlin!” he shouted, “You can’t just hide in the corner and ignore me from now on!”

And that—that bothered Merlin. Not only was Arthur not leaving him in peace, but he failed to see the reason why Merlin had run in the first place, and without thinking Merlin was opening his mouth to respond.

“You could have _told_ me!” he shouted back at Arthur.

“No one could know!” Arthur responded. “Everyone was supposed to think I was dead. Many people immediately stop listening when you mention the name Pendragon. And here I am, a prince on the run, trying to take down his tyrant of a father who hates magic.”

“I wouldn’t have _told_ anyone!” Merlin shouted. “You didn’t have to _lie_ to me.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. “It didn’t occur to me, all right?! The goal was to bring you here, for the good of the kingdom. The people of Camelot—my people—they can’t keep living like this!”

He paused, as if his words had just sunk just in, and Merlin felt his heart grow cold.

“You knew.” It wasn’t a question. “You knew, about my magic. When we first met, even, _before_ I saved you. The Druids—Morgana, with her Sight. And Freya—you came _because_ of me.”

“Only because Morgana had a vision! What the dragon said about Albion—I had _no idea_ of—of _that_.” He winced after his protest, as if he knew he had just buried himself deeper, and Merlin would have laughed if he didn’t feel so utterly betrayed.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?!—you _used_ me,” Merlin said, realisation colouring his tone. He could feel his cheeks flushing, but out of anger, not embarrassment. “Did you _throw_ yourself in front of that bus? To _test_ me?”

The question had been meant sarcastically, but when Arthur paled, Merlin did find himself laughing; harshly, the sound nearly hysterical.

“That explains the personality change when we arrived in Camelot. You’d gotten what you wanted from me, except then I didn’t play along. You must have been _so_ happy when I changed my mind about helping.” Part of Merlin knew he was overreacting, but he had never handled being lied to well.

“I needed— _Camelot_ needed—” Arthur tried to protest, but Merlin kept going, on a roll as he slowly connected the pieces.

“And _now_ , God knows what you want from me _now_. Did you just want a good fuck? Were you that desperate and lonely? Seeing as how you have no use for me beyond my magic, was I just a warm body in addition? So sorry you didn’t get it, then.”

Arthur tried again. “No, Merlin, it’s not like that—” but Merlin simply raised his voice.

“God, I can’t believe anything you say, can I? Everything, a lie.”

“No! At the very beginning, maybe, but that was never—”

“Shut up!” Merlin raged. He was busy feeling hurt, damn it, knowing that he had been tricked, lied to, _used_. He couldn’t listen to Arthur trying to talk his way out of it, but Arthur, in true form, ignored his demand.

“I need you to understand, I never meant to—”

“ _ **Stop!**_ ” Merlin screamed, and without meaning to he felt his eyes burn as his magic was accessed.

Just across from Arthur, a rock abruptly exploded.

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and he fell silent.

Merlin breathed in relief, keeping his gaze on Arthur and feeling a large amount of tension slide out of his shoulders in the knowledge that Arthur wasn’t going to try and convince him anymore. At least, not at that moment. Blowing up the rock had been an accident, his magic reacting to his anger, but at least it had gotten the job done.

“You and the others may stay until Lancelot’s leg is healed,” Merlin said, voice now calm. “After that, please go.”

Arthur hesitated. “What will you do?”

Merlin faltered, but only for a moment. “I’ll stay here, with my—my father. Now, can you please go? I need to be alone for now.”

Arthur nodded slowly, getting back to his feet and walking away as Merlin buried his face into his knees.

By the time he looked up again, Arthur was long gone.

* * *

“I wish you luck on your quest,” Balinor told Lancelot two days after the fight had occurred.

It hadn’t been an easy two days. Merlin hadn’t been the only one to be lied to; most of them had been oblivious to Arthur’s true heritage, and the group had been forced to sit back and think about the knowledge.

Lancelot had accepted it most easily. Arthur may have lied, but Lancelot was a noble sort, always fighting for the cause he had signed up for, and Uther remained a tyrant. And Merlin realised, what with Arthur being a prince, that Lancelot’s dream of becoming a knight was closer than he had originally thought.

Naturally, given Lancelot’s decision, Gwen wasn’t going to leave him, and Elyan wasn’t going to leave _her_. It had hardly been as simple as that—Gwen had been very diplomatic about it, had made her own choices, not following him blindly—but in the end that was what it had come down to.

Gwaine was of the opposite mind. He had joined the rebellion as willingly as the rest of them, but Gwaine did not want to be a knight, and he’d always been the one to say that he’d have killed the Pendragon child if Uther hadn’t done it. With Arthur alive and well, it had taken Percival and Leon both to stop Gwaine from punching him in the face.

He wasn’t going to leave them, but it was obvious that Gwaine needed some time apart from Arthur. They would split ways after the mountains, he decided, in the hopes of finding more people to recruit in the meantime.

Percival, it seemed, did not trust Gwaine to be on his own. He too had apologised; it had nothing to do with Arthur, but in the end, he made the decision to go along with Gwaine instead. Gwaine had laughed, clapped him on the back, and wished him luck.

Morgana and Leon had both tried talking to Merlin in an attempt to smooth things over. Merlin had ignored them.

The eight of them had packed their things, ready to leave, but it seemed the dragon had yet more to say.

Considering the disaster he had caused the last time he’d spoken, the only person who had been willing to speak to the dragon since had been Balinor, and Merlin felt that it was more because they were connected by their souls. Not because Balinor actually wanted to talk to the beast.

“Young Pendragon,” he said, ignoring the way Arthur flinched at the surname, “Though the two of you are parting ways, you still have a destiny to fulfil. One day, you will unite Albion, but for now you must strike Uther down and become King in his place. This is your right as heir. But keep in mind—you will not be able to do this alone.”

Arthur merely nodded in response, clearly unwilling to speak to the dragon, and glanced over at Merlin. Merlin forced himself to maintain eye contact, even though he wanted nothing more than to look away. Arthur looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end he merely bid Merlin farewell, hoisted his bag higher up his shoulder, and then made his way out of the cave.

The others, who had already gotten their goodbyes out of the way, merely nodded to him as they followed after Arthur.

And then it was only Merlin, Balinor, and the dragon left.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Merlin soon learned that time didn’t have any sort of meaning when living in a cave. One counted time in years; not days, or even months, but Merlin made sure to keep track of the days as best he could, even marking them into the walls of the cave if he had to.

And though Merlin was still adjusting to sort of living with his estranged father (if one could call cave-dwelling “living with” someone, anyway), if there was one thing to be said for the man, it was that Balinor, as a Dragonlord and thus also a magic user, was invaluable to Merlin’s studies.

For a man that had removed himself from human contact with only a dragon for company for eight years, he was a good teacher. Surprisingly patient, even. Unsurprisingly, the dragon was less so. Merlin had learned very early on to ignore Kilgharrah unless the situation was dire, and again wondered how Balinor had put up with the beast for so long.

But even as Merlin’s magic grew stronger and more controlled, Merlin’s heart grew colder, and again he understood just why his father was so gruff. Like Merlin, the dragon too had pulled Balinor away from the person he loved, though the circumstances had been far different—Balinor had, in the end, left of his own free will. Merlin had sent Arthur away and crushed his own heart in the process.

It was simply easier not to let one's heart dwell on those you loved, when you had no way of seeing them again. It only caused pain.

A part of Merlin was glad that he had chosen to stay with his father though, because now at least he had another human being to speak to. He wasn’t quite sure when he had shifted from being “Balinor” to “father” but it hadn’t taken as long as Merlin had expected it would.

Yes, the dragon could talk, but Merlin was of the firm opinion that the dragon was a stark raving lunatic that was obsessed with the thought of revenge.

In a way, Merlin couldn’t blame him. He had heard of and seen the things Uther had done first hand, and it was only natural that the dragon would be bitter, knowing that he was the last of his kind thanks to the tyrant King murdering all his brethren.

Yet even though Merlin knew the death of Uther was necessary for the land to heal, he didn’t think it was right for the dragon to sound so...almost horrifyingly _giddy_ about the thought of Uther being killed.

The problem was, Balinor didn’t make any attempts to stop him, not like he had the night they’d met him. It wasn’t like he was _encouraging_ the creature, but it seemed like Balinor’s hatred for Uther was also very strong; just hearing the King’s name caused Balinor’s anger to rise, almost on reflex. He normally forced himself to calm down quickly enough, but not always, and Merlin was wise enough to keep out of their way when the topic of Uther was brought up.

If nothing else, the dragon had full confidence in Arthur, though it frequently dropped hints that Merlin should be with him if Arthur was to succeed in such a task.

Again, Merlin had soon learned to ignore it; more so when it tried to mention Arthur, because Merlin was most definitely not ready to bring himself to think about Arthur and the others, not yet. Maybe once his heart had gone from simply cold to cold as ice, he could risk it. Though from the looks Balinor sometimes gave him, Merlin had a feeling he wasn’t succeeding. If anything, he was—

“Pining,” Balinor finally said after Merlin had been staying with him and Kilgharrah for nearly a month, and had been trying the same spell for two days straight with no success.

“What?” Merlin asked, even though he knew exactly what his father meant.

“Your magic is deeply rooted in your emotions, Merlin. Strong as it has become, it begins to wane the deeper into turmoil your heart becomes. Too deep, and accessing it will become nigh impossible.” He paused. “To be honest,” he said, haltingly, as if he were searching for the right words to use, “I’m not sure why it took this long. But then, your magic is far more powerful than most.”

Merlin frowned. “I am not _pining_ ,” he said belligerently, even though he knew that was _exactly_ what he was doing. No matter how cold his heart slowly grew, Merlin found that he missed the others far too much to properly let them go. Not just Arthur—everyone. While he tried his hardest not to dwell on them, they still lurked in his memories; resurfaced in dreams.

He’d woken up more than one night crying.

“There is nothing wrong with thinking of them, my son. I still think of your mother. It’s when you allow those thoughts to overwhelm you that you inadvertently lock your magic away inside you.”

Merlin involuntarily shuddered at the thought of locking his magic away, accidentally or otherwise. He expected his magic to burn him from the inside out if that ever happened, in a desperate attempt to free itself.

He wondered what his magic would do if he ever died. It had been a “gift” from the Old Religion, so if he died, would it return? Or would the Old Religion simply look for a new host? The answer, Merlin supposed, depended on whether or not he managed to fulfil his so-called destiny.

But that was far too morbid a train of thought, especially given his current state of mind, and Merlin instead fixed a mournful gaze upon his father.

“Do you...think I made the right choice?” he asked, tentatively.

Balinor sighed. “Son, I think you made the best possible choice you could at the time, given the circumstances. I can’t tell you whether it was ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ but I do know that you and Arthur needed some time apart, and this was an excellent opportunity for you to train with your magic freely. But all things considered...”

Merlin knew what his father was going to say. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet. And I’m not sure I can forgive _him_ yet, either.” He hadn’t been able to bring himself to say Arthur’s name out loud even once since the time he and the others had left.

Balinor inclined his head, obviously understanding just how deeply the betrayal had wounded Merlin emotionally. “I know. But you may have to forgive him in your heart, at the very least, if you want to master your magic properly.”

Of course his father was right, but that didn’t mean it would be any easier to accept. Though honestly, Merlin wasn’t so sure it was a matter of mastering his magic as it was proving to his magic that he was worthy, or something.

It sounded ridiculous, he knew, and Merlin would never bother trying to explain that to someone, not even another person of magic. It was just that Merlin felt more like the vessel, than the person actually in control some days. But he and the magic were technically one. Both were capable of affecting the other, and when it came to Arthur, _both_ of them—and didn’t that sound strange—were affected.

“Maybe give it another week,” Merlin offered glumly.

Balinor patted him on the back sympathetically—if not awkwardly.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

A week passed, and nothing had changed. It wasn’t like Merlin didn’t _try_ , but he didn’t exactly think anyone could blame him for acting like a teenage girl, as embarrassing as it was. It had been his first relationship, and it had crashed and burned _spectacularly_.

He flipped through the magic book; he was only about halfway through it, but Merlin was bored with spells that grew easier to learn every day. Instead, he went to the back of the book, where all the higher level spells were.

That was when he saw it. It was a picture of a heart—an actual heart, not a Valentine—on the page, and underneath that was the description of the spell. Merlin squinted, reading the foreign language carefully, and after several minutes he got it.

“To mend a broken heart,” he murmured, brushing his hand over the page. Merlin wondered if it would truly help. He wanted to keep the spell to himself, but Merlin wasn’t stupid; using magic had great consequences at times, and so he went to ask his father about it.

“No!” Balinor nearly shouted, and Merlin almost dropped the book in surprise. “No,” Balinor repeated, “You mustn’t use that spell. It will not mend your heart, son—it will make you forget him. You cannot miss what you cannot remember.

Merlin’s words caught in his throat. Forget Arthur? Some nights, he had dreamed of exactly that, and yet when faced with that exact solution, Merlin realised he couldn’t. He didn’t _want_ to forget, not really. He couldn’t live like that.

The first step would be coming to terms with what Arthur had done. Merlin wasn’t sure if he forgave him, and he wasn’t sure he yet understood why Arthur had done it, but at the very least Merlin knew that part of him was simply being stubborn about it. He was still hurt that Arthur hadn’t trusted him, and he was afraid to find out if that was still true. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier, but Merlin could accept that he was partially at fault.

However, Merlin was pretty sure if he happened across Arthur again, he wouldn’t run. Probably. At the very least, he’d definitely let Arthur explain. And then maybe he’d run away. It depended on the explanation.

Either way, his decision allowed Merlin to access his magic with ease again, and he continued to use it to levels he hadn’t even known he was capable of. Three months into his stay with his father, Merlin had learned, memorised, and mastered nearly every spell in the book. The only spells he hadn’t learned were the darker ones that Balinor pointed out, like the one he had considered using.

Reading the book itself from back to front hadn’t taken very long. Mastering the spells had been the hard part, but it had been a very informative three months, Merlin thought, and he’d never been more confident with his magic than he was at that moment.

He could take care of himself, now. At the beginning, he’d needed to rely on Arthur and the others, and then he’d needed his father to guide him, but Merlin finally knew what he was doing. According to Balinor, he had “come into his power.”

But Merlin knew there was more out there, far beyond one simple magic book. There were spells out there just waiting to be learned, and Merlin wouldn’t ever be able to expand his knowledge of magic if he remained in a cave for the rest of his life. It was time to move on.

Unfortunately, Balinor flat out refused to leave the cave. It wasn’t even that Merlin needed his father to come with him; he’d just thought that perhaps Hunith would want to see him again, that Balinor should get some company besides Merlin and the dragon—but no.

“Until Uther’s reign of tyranny has ended, I will not endanger your mother. This is the best place, for both Kilgharrah and I.”

Nothing Merlin said would convince him otherwise, but at least he knew his father would be safe. He wished his father farewell, and offered the dragon a short goodbye as well.

“Good luck, son,” Balinor said.

Merlin smiled at him reassuringly and hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder before he focussed on his magic, allowing it to flood through him.

“ _Síþ_ ,” he said, feeling his eyes burn, and then he was being yanked away from his present location almost violently, the cave vanishing before his eyes.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The issue with not having a destination in mind, when you performed a transport spell, was that you could end up literally anywhere. But then, most people didn’t have magic with a mind of its own, so _of course_ when Merlin was finally deposited back on the ground he would double over and vomit right on someone’s shoes. Boots, to be precise.

Indeed, the spell had always made him a bit queasy, and Merlin was relieved to notice that his bag had fallen to the side and out of the line of fire, so to speak. _Probably shouldn’t have eaten so much before using it,_ Merlin figured as he wiped at his mouth shakily and sat back on his haunches, looking up with profuse apologies at the ready for whoever he’d just spilled the contents of his stomach on.

Which was how he found himself looking right at Arthur’s face, whose expression was a mixture of shock and disgust. Probably because of the vomit thing, Merlin guessed. Hoped, really.

Oh, right. That whole “his magic missed Arthur” thing.

Shit. It just figured that his magic would be ready before he was.

“Sorry!” Merlin all-but yelped, scrambling backwards. Behind Arthur, he could see the others as well (sans Percival and Gwaine), all standing there and staring at Merlin with varying degrees of shock. Well, Morgana didn’t look very shocked. Bloody Seers.

“Sorry,” Merlin blurted out again, directing his gaze back to Arthur. “The transport spell doesn’t seem to agree with my stomach, um, let me get that for you—” he raised his hand, murmured “ _clæne_ ” under his breath, and was relieved to see that the mess he had made immediately disappeared as if it had never been there at all.

Merlin looked back up at Arthur with a pleased grin before he saw Arthur’s now wary expression, and Merlin’s smile slid right off his face again.

Right. Given their last conversation, it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

Morgana stepped forward them, coming to Merlin’s rescue when it became obviously that neither he nor Arthur knew what to say. Honestly, Merlin wasn’t sure how to feel about her in particular, given that she had known the truth about Arthur the entire time and never said a word; but then, she and Leon both held an unwavering loyalty to Arthur, so Merlin couldn’t blame her that much. She had wanted Arthur to tell him, and despite Merlin’s conflicting emotions, he was still thankful.

“Merlin!” she exclaimed, sounding rather delighted to see him, all things considered. Merlin felt rather touched. She brushed past Arthur, bending over Merlin as if to look him over. “I see you’ve gotten much better at using your magic in the time we’ve been apart.”

Her voice held a hint of pride at the realisation. Merlin couldn’t stop himself from grinning at her with pride of his own, finally getting back to his feet as he brushed dirt and grass and who-knew-what-else off himself before bending down to pick his pack up again.

“Yep,” he responded cheerfully, because given that Merlin was currently the most powerful sorcerer in Camelot—possibly even in Albion, though Merlin wasn’t sure if the Old Religion had only retreated from Uther’s lands or entirely, and no one else seemed to know, either—there was hardly a reason to be modest about the fact when he finally felt confident using his magic.

There were a whole lot of people relying on him to save the land; they’d probably feel much more reassured by that knowledge.

“Wonderful!” Morgana smiled, looping her arm through his as she pulled him close. “So, to what do we owe this visit? I’d be surprised you managed it, since we’re moving around, but then,” she laughed, the sound like the tinkling of bells, “You’re you, and I’m me, so no, I’m not surprised.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Not that I didn’t miss you all terribly,” he told her, pointedly avoiding looking at Arthur, “But this was actually an accident. I just finished my training, you see, and I decided it couldn’t hurt to find more spells to learn, out in the world. Except, I didn’t have a destination in mind when I used the transport spell, and well, here I am.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Interesting,” she said, and no, Merlin decided, he did _not_ like the sound of that.

Of course _he_ knew what it meant, that the spell had taken him right to Arthur—and the others, obviously, but it had been Arthur he’d landed right in front of. And vomited on. Morgana, being a magic user, would have picked up on it as well. If he was very lucky, the others would have no idea, unless Morgana explained to them in detail about transport spells at any point in time.

But no, another glance over at them revealed no comprehending faces. For the moment, anyway. Knowing Morgana, he was doomed.

“Not that it isn’t lovely to see you all,” Merlin added hastily, but judging by Morgana’s smirk it was far too late for that. She merely tightened her grip around his arm, leading him back toward the others so he could talk to them, and as they passed by Arthur Merlin shot him a nervous look.

It seemed that Arthur was still hesitant though, unsure what to say—as if he believed that if he spoke then Merlin would change his mind and take off without a second thought.

Merlin couldn’t really blame him for that. The entire thing had been a disaster from start to finish, and the unspoken question of just where their friendship, their _relationship_ would go from there hung in the air awkwardly.

But there was no question that they _would_ be talking about it, at some point, if Merlin stuck around long enough. He knew that that and accepted it; had accepted it long before he left the cave, and would most definitely be sticking around long enough to let Arthur explain. There was always the possibly he would run after, though.

Merlin hugged Gwen and Lancelot both, nodded at Leon, and clasped Elyan’s arm in greeting, beaming and feeling only slightly overwhelmed by the five of them pressing in around him as they fussed over him and said how good it was to see him.

He really had missed them, but after three months of the only other human company being his father, Merlin could kind of understand one of his father’s unspoken reasons for being reluctant to leave the cave: Merlin was feeling awkward with people he knew and loved after three months. Balinor would be dealing with eight years.

In Merlin’s case though, he had been with them for far longer than the three months he had left them, and it didn’t take long for the overwhelming sensation to start to fade, the longer the six of them talked.

Through it all, Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes upon him, watching him.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

They were in the Darkling Woods, Merlin learned, the forest surrounding the northern side of Camelot (the Forest of Brechffa covered the southern side, which was the place that had been burned, the night they rescued Gwaine).

“We make for Camelot,” Morgana said, eyes bright, and Merlin knew exactly what that meant. He was even prepared for it, albeit reluctantly; the dragon and Balinor both had taught him a myriad of offensive, defensive, and healing spells. Merlin wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know exactly why they’d done that.

Merlin had turned into a soldier, just like the rest of them.

“You will join us, won’t you Merlin?”

He had been reluctant to agree, even though it was inevitable. But then Arthur had said, quietly, “Your help would be invaluable.” It had been the first time he’d spoken since Merlin had appeared before them, and it was almost embarrassing how fast Merlin had given in after that.

“The Druids will be pleased to hear about your magic,” Morgana said.

“The _Druids_ are getting involved in this?” Merlin asked, gaping.

Morgana nodded. “They won’t fight, of course. But they will aid us, as they always have. They have a good grasp of healing, and they’ll be providing us with supplies.”

“Huh,” Merlin said.

“By the by, Merlin,” Leon stepped in, “About that spell you used—could you use it on a large group, instead of just yourself?”

Merlin couldn’t stop himself from smiling. That was Leon, ever the strategist.

“I could,” Merlin confirmed, and a look of delight crossed Leon’s face. “Of course,” Merlin continued, “I’d have to change the spell a bit, to focus on more than just a single person. But that’s pretty easy, and I’m sure I could concentrate on all of you enough to make it happen without any body parts being left behind—”

The look on Leon’s face fast turned to one of alarm, and Merlin started laughing. “I’m only joking, don’t worry. You wouldn’t lose anything important.”

He exchanged look with Morgana after the fact, and her expression told him she knew he was a filthy liar, but well, Merlin had enough confidence in his abilities by that point that he was pretty sure it wouldn’t happen.

Like, 99% sure.

98%.

Well, what Leon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Besides Arthur, the rest of them continued to make easy conversation. The only time Arthur spoke was when he eventually told them to stop and make camp. Merlin understood that; they wouldn’t be entering Camelot alone, after all. They needed the others.

It got awkward when they proceeded to unpack and claim their spots, and without thinking Merlin almost laid out his things by Arthur. The startled look on Arthur’s face, however, gave him pause, and Merlin abruptly remembered that they weren’t okay on either end, not yet. Shakily, he retreated to the other side of the clearing, ignoring the reproving looks Morgana and the others were giving him.

He wondered when Gwaine and Percival would be joining them again; in the silence, the glaring absence of Gwaine’s noisy chatter loomed over them, just as strongly as Percival’s presence didn’t, and literally at that. He knew the split was only a temporary one, but it was obvious the others had had to adjust regardless.

He wondered if and how they had adapted to his own absence before he’d returned to them. He wondered if they’d possibly be forced to adapt to it again.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

It just figured that once they had a fire going and they were all relatively settled in that Morgana would approach him, in his little corner of the clearing.

“Can I speak to you in private?” she asked quietly, though her voice was sharp.

Merlin found that more than anything he would have liked nothing better than to say _no_. Even though the others hadn’t yet noticed her assaulting him, or perhaps harassing was a better word, he knew that they would hurt him if he tried. To say nothing of Morgana.

He wished that Arthur wasn’t busy sharpening his sword, because Merlin had a feeling that if Arthur was actually paying attention to them, he would have been of the exact opposite mind and demanded that Morgana leave Merlin alone. Damn Morgana for not choosing her confrontation in the middle of the camp.

Either way it meant that unfortunately Arthur was not, in fact, paying attention, and so it was with a reluctant groan that Merlin nodded and followed after Morgana.

The two of them had only travelled a short distance away from the campsite when it seemed her impatience got the better of her, and she whirled on Merlin abruptly.

“You need to talk to him,” she said, to the point as always, and Merlin sputtered.

“Why is it always you?” he asked, almost plaintively. “Why are you always the one pushing us together when we can’t manage it on our own?” He paused, realising what he had said, and then groaned. “ _Why can’t we get our own shit together?_ ”

She merely crossed her arms over her chest in answer. Merlin leaned back against the nearest tree and sighed. “Is it because of our ‘destiny’ or whatever? Because of your Sight? Because of the Druids? Do we really have to be on any sort of friendly terms to save anyone?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” Morgana said dismissively.

Merlin shot her a look, and she relented. “All right, it has a little bit to do with that. You have to understand—yes, I’ve Seen that you’re the one who will save us all, but no, you and my brother don’t need to be any sort of _close_ for that to happen. But Merlin, you make him _happy_. You’re _good_ for him.”

Merlin held up his hands to stop her before she got carried away. “In some twisted way, maybe you’re right. I don’t know. But we’re grown men, Morgana, and as much as I appreciate the push, this is something we have to work out on our own.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, so Merlin kept going before she could interrupt. “I _know_ we need to talk, more than anyone. And I plan on it. But right now, I don’t think Arthur is ready for that. He needs time.”

Morgana scoffed. “ _That_ is your big excuse?”

Merlin frowned. “It’s not an excu—”

Morgana trampled all over his protests. “Merlin, he’s ready. He’s _been_ ready. He’s more amazed you appeared again at all. He’d resigned himself to never seeing you again. He was afraid he ruined everything.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “After we left, and he managed to finally stopped sulking—once he was marginally better, or at least, back in his head, he asked after you, most days. Asked if I’d Seen you, and what you were doing.”

Merlin’s breath caught, and Morgana offered him a gentle smile. “I didn’t like it, but I often had to let him down. There was hardly ever news. I very rarely dream about you.” Her smile turned wistful. “He always looked sad, after that.”

Her gaze caught Merlin’s. “So don’t tell me Arthur isn’t ready, when you’re the one trying to delay the inevitable.” She poked him in the chest, hard, and Merlin winced. “ _Talk to him_.”

“Okay,” Merlin said. “Okay.”

* * *

Even though they weren’t officially together anymore, Merlin found himself wanting to bury his face in his palms at the fact that despite it all, the others _still_ seemed to be part of the strange Merlin and Arthur fanclub. When he finally approached Arthur to talk to him not long after the conversation with Morgana, he could practically feel, more than see, the grins on their faces.

“On second thought, could we have this conversation somewhere else?” Merlin pleaded.

Arthur seemed taken aback that Merlin was talking to him at all. That was the thing, Merlin realised. It hadn’t just been Arthur not talking to him; Merlin hadn’t made the effort either. Of course that would have scared Arthur off. After glancing around at the others, though, Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Yes. That would be good,” he said.

Merlin smiled, or at least he tried to, offering Arthur a weak half-smile instead due to nerves.

“Excellent.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“Will you at least let me try to explain, this time?” Arthur asked once they had made their way a suitable distance from the others. They remained a suitable distance from each other, as well. Merlin winced.

“I know, I know, I handled it badly.”

The look on Arthur’s face softened. “Horribly, actually. But I brought it on myself, really. I’d been planning on telling you, and Morgana kept pushing for it, but I was just so—afraid of your reaction, what you would think of me, that I let it get out of control.”

“Backfired pretty spectacularly,” Merlin observed, and Arthur snorted.

“Yes, thank you. I rather noticed.”

Merlin chuckled softly before he raised his gaze and offered Arthur a solemn look. “But to answer your question: Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain before, but it was just—too raw. Too new. Too...”

“Painful,” Arthur agreed, “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Merlin shrugged, knowing it was far too late to take it back now. “Just so you know—I’m willing to hear your explanation, but I can’t...I don’t know what I’ll do, after. I’m not sure if I’ll stay.”

Arthur grimaced. “Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to be extra convincing, won’t I?”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

It turned out when Arthur explained something, he was very, very thorough about it. Or at least he was when he knew it was his last chance to do so.

“When we were growing up, Uther—” and distantly, Merlin wondered how long it had been since Arthur had called him _father_ , “—didn’t let Morgana and I out, much. That’s the only reason I can think of that Gwen and Elyan never recognised my face, once the two of them joined up. The people of Camelot don’t _know_ me, not like I know them.”

 _But you care about them regardless_ , went the unspoken sentiment.

Arthur bit at his lip, seeming to think over his next statement. “Once we escaped, it was easy enough to pretend I wasn’t the prince. I took Morgana’s surname to cover my tracks and spread rumours that Uther had killed the child at a young age. Since I had so rarely been seen, and Uther is such a tyrant, it was easy enough for people to believe. It was like Arthur Pendragon never existed.”

Merlin tilted his head to the side in confusion. The two of them were sitting across from each other now, their knees almost touching but not quite. “Wait. But if Morgana is your sister—le Fay is actually her surname? And yours is Pendragon...”

“Well...yes and no,” Arthur confessed. “Morgana is a Pendragon by blood, but not by birth. Her parents gave her the name of le Fey, but when I was sixteen, I learned that her father is actually Uther. Morgana never adopted the Pendragon name, though. She prefers to stick with the one given to her at birth.”

“You royals are such complicated people,” Merlin said, only half-serious, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“As if you would know anything about royalty, Merlin.”

“Hey, Britain is a monarchy! I mean, it’s a constitutional monarchy, unlike yours, but we still have a Queen! We have an entire royal family!”

He noticed the look Arthur was giving him, and Merlin offered him a sheepish grin. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“Thank you, Merlin, that’s so kind of you.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“So, when you were sixteen you learned Morgana is your sister, which is right around the time you ran away. Coincidence? I think not.”

“What have I told you about trying to be clever?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Mm. You are right, though. I learned Morgana was my sister by complete accident—or at least, no one told me to my face.”

“So you eavesdropped.”

“Well,” Arthur’s face grew dark, “It wasn’t quite like that.”

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“There was a Court Physician in the castle,” Arthur explained. “His name was Gaius. Honestly, he was more of a father to me than Uther was. The loss of my mother had driven him to insanity, and it was left to Gaius to take care of me—Morgana, too, when she arrived at the castle as Uther’s ward when I was five years old.”

“Wait, wait,” Merlin said, as realisation dawned on him. “I think I know this story. This is the story Leon told me.”

Arthur hesitated, and then nodded. “He only changed a few details, namely Gaius being my father instead.”

“I got that part,” Merlin nodded,” I thought that maybe he was lying, after I learned the truth...”

Arthur flinched, and Merlin immediately felt like the worst person alive for ever having thought that. “Sorry,” he said, “I just didn’t know what to think.”

“Yes, well, as you know, Uther eventually killed Gaius.”

“But _why_?” Merlin asked. “Why kill him when Morgana was the one with magic? Because Gaius kept it from him?”

Arthur’s face was solemn. “Uther has killed men for less, but no. Gaius had magic, too. He’d sworn to Uther that he would never again use it, but...” he faltered.

“I need to backtrack, slightly. Not long before Uther made his plan to kill Morgana, he captured somebody. I don’t know who, exactly. Someone with magic, is all I can say. Maybe they could see the future. Uther—tortured them. He was so _proud_ of the fact.” Arthur’s lips curled in distaste, “And out of their mind with pain, they confessed that one day a person of magic would be the one to bring about Uther’s downfall.”

Merlin sucked in a breath. “Me.”

Arthur nodded. “I didn’t know what had been said, at the time. I only pieced it together after Morgana’s vision, not long before I went to see you. It was the reason Uther tripled his efforts to execute those with magic. Even Morgana was a risk—Gaius too.”

“How did he know Morgana had magic?”

“That, I don’t know. Perhaps he found out the same way I did, when I was very young, overhearing her and Gaius speak of it. It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that I managed to get her out before he could go through with…with killing her.”

He paused. “I only wish I’d been able to do the same for Gaius. But I only knew to save Morgana because I heard the two of them talking. I had no way of knowing what would happen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin said.

“No, I know that. But Uther assumed someone had helped us escape, and I fear that was indirectly the cause of Gwen and Elyan’s father’s death. I apologised to them, after we parted ways with you, but they said I didn’t need to. I hadn’t known—”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, “You mustn’t blame yourself.”

Arthur laughed weakly. “Arthur,” he repeated, sounding almost bitter. “How ridiculous would I sound if I admitted that I miss you calling me Peter?”

Merlin almost felt like he wanted to cry.

“Not at all,” he reassured him, “Peter.”

Arthur made a strange noise that sounded almost like relief, and Merlin was surprised to find that he had missed _calling_ Arthur that, and that doing so had immediately broken one of the barriers between them. Without even realising it, the two of them had inched marginally closer to each other so their knees were actually touching.

When Merlin noticed, it felt like a jolt of electricity was crawling through his body. Arthur, if the rigid look on his face was anything to go by, was also aware, but it seemed that between the two of them, Arthur’s will was stronger. He was clearly determined to see his explanation through to the end rather than pausing for a snog.

Merlin, on the other hand, had basically already forgiven Arthur, and he would very much have liked a snog, thanks very much, but no, Arthur wasn’t done yet.

“I admit that at first I...only had selfish reasons for bringing you here. You knew that much, and I was angry. I only wanted your help because you were the person destined to help save my people. But then I got to know you, and it wasn’t just about Camelot anymore. And I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t believe you still think you have to apologise after that.”

Arthur froze for a moment, and then raised his head, unable to quash the hopeful look on his face. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“I can’t believe I thought I could _leave_. Not going with all of you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” He offered Arthur a shy smile. “Yes, I’m staying.”

Arthur laughed, looking absurdly pleased with himself as he got to his feet, and before Merlin could even think to do the same, Arthur was already bending down and grabbing his hand, dragging Merlin up to his feet. He walked him backwards, and Merlin found himself gasping when Arthur slammed him back against a tree.

It was definitely a good gasp, and Arthur knew it, because the smile he gave Merlin was absolutely _wicked_ before he leaned in and pressed his lips to Merlin’s eagerly.

Merlin was glad he had the tree behind him as support, because his knees already felt weak with it as he kissed Arthur back enthusiastically, arms coming up to rest on Arthur’s shoulders as he opened his mouth and allowed Arthur’s tongue inside.

Arthur drew away, nipping at Merlin’s lips before he resumed kissing him, and Merlin bit back a moan as he surged up against Arthur, attempting to give back as good as he got and taking a sort of pride in the whimpers he drew out of Arthur as he sucked on his tongue.

“Missed this,” Arthur whispered against his lips when they finally stopped for air. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed, moving his hands from Arthur’s shoulders and dragging them down Arthur’s sides gently, smiling against Arthur’s lips as Arthur tried to wiggle away from the touch. Merlin wasn’t going to stand for that, and he tightened his grip for a moment, catching Arthur off guard. It was a feat that Merlin had previously thought impossible, so he was secretly rather proud of himself as he reversed their positions abruptly. Now it was Arthur pressed back against the tree, instead of him.

Arthur’s breath left him in a whoosh of air. “Trying to get the upper hand, Merlin?” he managed to get out as they continued to exchange kisses. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Oh, didn’t you?” Merlin asked, moving to nuzzle Arthur’s cheekbone with his nose. “I’m just full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” Arthur murmured approvingly—and then Merlin’s breath hitched as he felt Arthur’s hand palming his cock through his breeches.

Arthur’s hand froze along with Merlin’s body, Arthur pressing small kisses against Merlin’s lips in the meantime. “Is this okay?” he asked. “I mean, we don’t...”

Merlin allowed himself to breathe again. “No, no it’s fine,” he said, groaning as Arthur’s hand resumed moving against him.

They hadn’t done anything like this before, both too new to the relationship; all they’d ever done was kiss. Merlin had never been brave enough to go further, even when he could feel Arthur’s heat against the small of his back most mornings, even though occasionally he had wished for some fumbling in the dark.

But now, as Arthur’s hand reached into his breeches and wrapped around his cock, Merlin’s thoughts abruptly ground to a halt.

Merlin, of course, knew how great it felt to have a hand on his dick; he’d done it enough to himself over the years and all. But there was something strangely fascinating about having someone else’s hand on it.

For one, it was a bit too dry, not enough pre-come having accumulated, and it wasn’t like there was any lube on hand in the woods, or whatever they used in a time without proper lube. Oil? No oil around, either. So it hurt a bit, but it was just enough on the side of pleasurable that Merlin didn’t mind that much, and the longer Arthur’s hand remained on him, the slicker it got as pre-come continued to build up, and oh, yeah, that felt _much_ better.

And then Arthur changed the angle, and it got _really_ good.

“Holy shit— _Arthur_.”

Arthur leaned forward, still working his hand over Merlin’s cock. “Peter,” he breathed into Merlin’s ear, and Merlin stuttered out a laugh.

“What, is that a new kink for you? And to think, you didn’t even _like_ it at first, _Peter_.”

Arthur hissed in pleasure as he continued to jerk Merlin off, and Merlin couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward, fucking up into Arthur’s hand as best he could, his hands on either side of Arthur.

He bit back a loud moan as Arthur swiped his thumb over the slit, and Merlin could feel his orgasm building almost absurdly quickly, but he was more than happy to blame that on the fact that it was his first proper handjob. Really, it was almost painful to admit how much of a virgin he was.

He scrambled at Arthur’s breeches, wanting to return the favour before he came and thus lost half of his higher brain functions, but Arthur was mumbling soft _no_ ’s into his hair, and then he licked the shell of Merlin’s ear and _holy hell erogenous zone, erogenous zone!_

With a stifled cry, Merlin came almost without warning, arching his back reflexively as he closed his eyes, but even then he could hear Arthur groaning, and a damp patch was growing against where his hand rested on Arthur’s breeches.

Eventually Merlin slumped forward against Arthur, his eyes opening. Arthur’s lips were red and swollen, his blue eyes hazy with pleasure, and Merlin smiled blithely at him, not under any delusions that he looked any better. If anything, he probably looked more of a mess than Arthur.

“You should have let me help,” he said, dragging his hand away from Arthur’s breeches. His orgasm was fogging his brain somewhat. “I wanted to help.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound reverberating through Merlin. “I can take care of myself.”

Merlin snorted, moving his hands to Arthur’s hips and tugging him closer, and the two of them slid down the trunk of the tree slowly until they were both sitting at the base, legs tangled up with each other and hands wandering around blindly.

“You came in your pants like a teenager,” he pointed out.

“Shut up, Merlin, I was attempting to make it good for you.”

“It could have been good for both of us, until you came in your pants.”

“Let it go!” Arthur groused, but there was no true anger behind the command. “If you’re so obsessed with the fact, why don’t you put your magic to good use and clean us up?”

Merlin laughed. “Oh fine, you big baby.”

Arthur looked ready to protest, but then Merlin uttered the same spell he’d used when cleaning up Arthur’s boots, and the look on Arthur’s face immediately changed to one of relief.

“That is a very useful spell,” he said appreciatively.

Merlin pressed a light kiss to Arthur’s cheek. “I aim to please. I’m glad His Majesty approves.”

Arthur froze immediately at the title, and Merlin winced. Clearly the orgasm had killed his brain-to-mouth filter. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, “It’s something we say on Earth—it’s sarcastic, it doesn’t mean anything, I was just—”

He was silenced by Arthur placing a finger against his lips. “It’s all right, Merlin, I know it wasn’t intentional.”

“Could have said that before I made a right tit out of myself,” Merlin grumbled, and Arthur laughed as he laced the fingers of his free hand together with Merlin’s. Merlin glanced down at them and couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Speaking of His Majesty, though,” Arthur said, more seriously now, “The others will be gathering here soon. I need to know if you’re ready for this.”

Merlin sobered as well. “My father and Kilgharrah made it impossible for me not to be. But I meant to ask—why now? It’s been eight years, why decide now is the moment?”

Arthur flinched, and Merlin realised that was a bit of a sore spot. “After what the dragon said, I realised that no matter how many recruits we find, or how much we train, it’ll never get easier. Uther’s power will continue to grow. It was now or never. The time to fight is here. The word has been sent all over the kingdom: We go to war.”

“When will that be exactly, then?” Merlin asked curiously. He was prepared for a fight, but a time span would have been even more reassuring. If he had enough time, he could even attempt to learn some new, stronger spells designed for warfare in the meantime.

Arthur untangled their fingers to caress Merlin’s forearm. “A week, maybe two depending on when they start arriving. Some are very far from here. The journeys will be long for them.”

Merlin smiled weakly at him. Two weeks wasn’t very long at all, but it occurred to him that perhaps among the magic users that would arrive, he could find someone to teach him new spells. Even so, though Merlin knew the war was necessary, and knew what he had to do, it didn’t mean he was particularly looking forward to it.

Arthur reached up and gripped Merlin by the back of his neck lightly, dragging him down to rest his head against Arthur’s chest. The position was awkward, but Merlin didn’t exactly want to move much. Unlike Arthur, Merlin was sleepy from his orgasm and lacked the ability to be a functioning human being after, which he envied, but he pulled away anyway, ignoring Arthur’s protests as he rearranged his position and then laying back against Arthur, this time in between Arthur’s legs, his back to Arthur’s chest.

Arthur hummed his approval, pressing a kiss to the back of Merlin’s neck.

“In other news,” he mumbled against Merlin’s skin, “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

“Mm?” Merlin asked, closing his eyes and relishing in the feeling of Arthur’s lips.

“I went and visited your Earth parents.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped open.

“ _What_?” he asked as he turned his head to look at Arthur, voice louder than he meant to be judging by Arthur’s wince.

“Just the other month or so. Morgana took over while I was away. I say visited—I didn’t talk to them or anything. I just wanted to check on them, see how they were doing in your stead. I made sure they didn’t see me. _That _would have been awkward. They miss you, though. But not to worry, the Lady of the Lake is looking out for them.”__

“Freya,” Merlin murmured, remembering what Morgana had told him not long after he had first come to Camelot. She had said the same thing, that Freya was looking out for them, and of course Merlin had believed her, but it was always nice to get further reassurance, especially after so much time had passed. 

“She’s created a copy of herself,” Arthur expanded on what he’d seen, “A young teenage Earth girl. Visits from time to time, reassures them that everything is fine with you. At least, that’s what I gathered.” 

“’s nice of her,” Merlin decided. “I’ll go see them, after all is said and done. I miss them, too.” 

At his words, Arthur stiffened. It was only slightly, but Merlin, who was resting against him, felt it easily and frowned. 

“Just a visit,” Merlin said. “I mean, I love them—how could I not, they raised me—but I’m an adult. I just want to let them know that I’m okay, face to face. To let them know what’s been going on. Mum and da will understand. Like you told me, I’m not stuck here. I can go back.” That was the difference, Merlin knew. Mary and John were “mum and da” whereas Hunith and Balinor were “mother and father.” 

He tilted his head up and pressed a swift kiss to Arthur’s lips. “But I won’t be staying. I want to stay here. With you, and the others.” 

Arthur’s hands tightened their grip on his hips ever-so-slightly, and he cleared his throat. “I’d like that,” he said, obviously fighting to keep his voice steady. 

“Me, too,” Merlin agreed. 

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“I have an idea,” Merlin told the others later around the fire, long after him and Arthur had rejoined the group, “For the fight against Uther.”

The others fixed him with varying amounts of inquiry in their eyes, and Merlin figured that was response enough to go on. “Well, I was thinking that I could go back and ask my father and Kilgharrah if they’ll join the fight. I can’t make any promises—but it wouldn’t hurt. A Dragonlord and his dragon would be invaluable, I’d think.”

They seemed to approve of the idea, if their reactions were anything to by; Leon was nodding, Arthur seemed pleased, Morgana looked impressed, Elyan was offering him a smile, and Gwen and Lancelot were offering him quiet praise for thinking of it.

Honestly, Merlin didn’t think it was his best plan, risking his neck to try and get a cranky dragon and his unsociable father on their side for a war, but if he _succeeded_ , their chances would increase exponentially.

“Like I said, I can’t promise anything,” Merlin cautioned, “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“We’ll understand if he doesn’t accept, Merlin,” Elyan said. “The fact that you’re going to try means more to us than anything.”

And well, that was that, really.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

“No,” Balinor said.

Merlin tried not to let his face fall; like he’d told the others, he had mostly-expected that answer. He had wanted to delay the visit, but Merlin figured it was like ripping a bandage off a wound—best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

And as expected, both Balinor and Kilgharrah would not join.

Merlin refused to let himself do anything more than shrug in resignation, though; all he could do was accept their refusal graciously. It had been a shot in the dark anyway, and Merlin wasn’t stupid enough to challenge a Dragonlord, even if they were his father, let alone a dragon. No matter how power he was, it would be a fool’s errand to even try.

And he didn’t think Kilgharrah would take too kindly to being challenged, anyway.

“Sure I can’t convince you?” Merlin asked hopefully, making one last attempt, but Balinor shook his head.

“I’m sorry, son. Uther must be stopped, but—”

“ _But_ , it is not our fight,” the dragon interrupted. “I too am sorry, young warlock, but our reasons for not fighting are our own.”

Merlin could understand that much, even if he very vividly remembered the dragon’s rants in the time he had stayed with them; how eager the beast was for Uther to be killed. Why he would not take the chance to be present for such, Merlin didn’t know, and it was most definitely not his place to ask after he had been politely rejected.

As politely as a dragon could do such, anyway.

“Thank you,” he said anyway, because that was the thing to do in such a situation, and he nodded his head at them both, offering his father a weak half-smile before he once again murmured the transport spell, a not-so-small part of him wishing that they would have agreed.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

When he returned—and after he had finished emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground; and he hadn’t even eaten that time, so no, that hadn’t been very pleasant—Merlin was forced to shake his head at his companions, telling them he had failed. They looked disappointed, but none of them blamed him. They had likely accepted the fact that they would be fighting without the firepower of a dragon and a Dragonlord combined long ago.

Merlin tried to have enough faith in himself that maybe he could turn the tide in their favour even a little without that advantage. That was, after all, the whole point of his destiny, or the prophecy, or _whatever ___it was. That he would be the one to save them all.

In that regard, their victory was as good as promised, though none of them were willing to take that for granted. They would still have to fight to win, and they would have to fight hard.

The others started arriving slowly, after that. First were the people from Willowdale, then Greenswood; Merlin greeted Gilli and Edwin with large smiles, letting the familiarity of their magic wash over him. It was good to see them again after so long. Tauren and Alvarr, who had fled to Greenswood after the raid on Longstrong, were also welcomed warmly. Merlin was glad to see that Tauren was doing all right.

After that came the Druids, or at least those capable. Those too young or too old to offer their aid on the battlefield had stayed back at the camp. Of course that meant Hunith had arrived as well, and Merlin couldn’t decide if he was glad to see her, or horrified that it meant she would be in the middle of the fighting.

At the same time, he was glad—and he felt horrible for thinking it—that his mother had arrived long after his plan had failed. He didn’t think he would have been able to handle the look on her face if he’d had to tell her he had tried and failed to get his father to come.

Over the days, more and more people came to them. Merlin was left trying to introduce himself to every new person he saw while attempting to remember their names after the fact. Most of the people joining them had a personal grudge against Uther. It wasn’t just Edwin’s scars; it was Alvarr’s parents, or Tauren’s companions. Merlin could only hope that with the fall of the King and Arthur bringing magic back to the land, their lust for revenge would be sated.

They would be hard to control in a fight, but Merlin was pretty sure that Arthur didn’t want them holding anything back. It was all or nothing.

“You all right there, Edwin?” Merlin asked, bending over to inspect the open box of bugs the man held delicately in his hands. “How are your bugs doing?”

“Elanthia Beetles, Merlin,” Edwin responded, tone reproving, “And they’re doing very well, thank you.”

“My mistake,” Merlin said, his own tone teasing as he patted Edwin on the shoulder before moving on.

He nodded at Tristan and Isolde as he passed; the smugglers Lancelot had recruited, and waved at Mary Collins and her son Thomas as they went over spells together—they had been taken out of Camelot by Elyan just hours before Thomas’ execution.

Merlin learned that his hopes had been founded; there was one among their comrades who helped teach him powerful magic.

His name was Alator of the Catha. He had a bodyguard, Orn, who was large and intimidating and didn’t exude an aura of gentleness like Percival did, so Merlin tried to avoid him. Alator was a High Priest of the Old Religion, or at least he had been up until it had hidden itself away, but Merlin supposed the title still applied. Even with Alator’s status, Merlin’s magic still far outmatched his, just as it outmatched everyone’s in this time of lost magic.

According to Alator, the earth wept over its loss, unable to thrive as well without its presence. Either way, he was very helpful, and taught Merlin high level spells far beyond any in the magic book, or what Balinor had shown him.

But then, Alator had also sworn eternal allegiance to Merlin, so that was a bit awkward.

Regardless, Merlin’s confidence practically soared with each new spell mastered, and when Gwaine and Percival finally returned with at least ten people in tow, Merlin was feeling fairly giddy as he gave them both hugs.

In the end, there were at least sixty people, around half of whom were magic, plus the Druids. They may not have had the advantage of numbers, but with their magic, they just maybe had a chance.

The night before they were due to go to Camelot, Merlin was struck with an idea. When he told Arthur about it, Arthur hadn’t liked it. At all. But it gave them an element of surprise that simply charging in wouldn’t provide, so he’d reluctantly let Merlin do what he had to, but not before he’d crushed Merlin close in a breath-taking kiss and made one lone request: “Promise me one thing. Leave Uther to me.”

“I promise.”

* * *

“How _dare_ you come into my kingdom, you filthy sorcerer!” Uther shouted into Merlin’s face.

Merlin tried not to flinch—not because he was scared, but because spittle was literally flying from Uther’s mouth, and some of it landed on Merlin’s cheek and that was just _gross_. He’d have moved away from it, but well, he was currently chained to the wall and his moving space was very limited with King Uther Pendragon raging about only a few feet away from him.

“You try to poison the minds of my people with your witchcraft, attempt to overthrow me—well let me tell you this, _sorcerer_ , this kingdom will crumble and _fall_ before a magic user ever gets near _my_ throne. There will be no kingdom left for them to rule.”

Merlin tried not to roll his eyes, because wow, way to jump to conclusions. One little magic spell and somehow you’re trying to take over the kingdom.

“And if it so happens that you’re not working alone, I will find your companions and execute them for treason. But seeing as how none have shown their sorry faces, I can only assume that if you _do_ have allies, they have shown their true colours and left you to die. No one is coming to save you.”

Merlin, honestly, didn’t care much about Uther’s spiel, and instead found himself—like he had with his own father—searching Uther’s face as he spoke, trying to find the similarities between this man and Arthur.

It wasn’t easy; Uther’s insanity had not just affected his mental state, but it had clearly put a strain on him physically as well. His skin was sallow, his eyes bloodshot, and Merlin found himself wishing that he knew what Arthur’s mother had looked like, because it was fairly obvious that Arthur had taken after her in far more ways.

She must have been beautiful.

Merlin allowed himself to pay attention again just as Uther’s rant seemed to be wrapping up.

“You will _burn_ ,” Uther promised, “And may it be a lesson to all others as foolish as you.”

Merlin found he could not keep silent at that.

“None so foolish as _you_. You have wronged so many people, in so many ways. You’re blinded by your hatred of magic. You have tortured and executed innocent people. You, Uther Pendragon, are a stupid, arrogant, old tyrant!”

Uther’s face darkened. “You will hold your tongue, _old man_. I shall see you meet your fate at dawn tomorrow.” He swept out of the dungeon, the cell door slamming shut firmly behind him.

Merlin bowed his head, making sure to keep his expression hidden from the guards as an almost manic grin crossed his face.

Phase One: Complete.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

It had been amazingly simple; Merlin’s magic book had an aging spell in it, which had allowed Merlin the absolute perfect disguise, seeing as how it transformed him into an eighty-year-old man. He had practiced the counter spell with Alator more times than he could count, and once he had it mastered as well, he’d made his way to the city of Camelot.

The city had been more peaceful than he had expected. Somehow, Merlin had found himself surprised by that, in a place where executions happened on a near daily basis and the King ruled over them with such tyranny. But then again, those without magic had nothing to fear beyond magic itself thanks to Uther, so it made sense that they didn’t think they had anything to worry about.

Merlin knew that wasn’t exactly true though—he had heard stories of the innocents who had been killed over the years for the barest _rumour_ of them possessing magic, even if it was a lie. Uther’s insanity knew no bounds, and the people were in danger every minute of every day, whether or not they knew it.

But Merlin did have magic, and he was most assuredly a walking target—but then, that _had_ rather been the point, he supposed.

No one had paid him any mind as he walked down the streets, aside from to occasionally tell him to move out of the way if he was walking too slowly. So much for respect for your elders, Merlin thought.

So naturally, when he’d conjured up a horse made of smoke in the courtyard—big and obvious; that way it was impossible to miss—the people had panicked, and the guards hadn’t hesitated to take him to Uther immediately. Uther had just as quickly ordered him to the dungeons.

Honestly, Merlin hadn’t expected it to go so well.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

The next day, Merlin found himself being dragged out of his cell at the crack of dawn, as Uther had promised. Merlin was only glad the man was so punctual with his promises, not that he thought Uther would waste any time at all on keeping a sorcerer alive for a moment longer than necessary.

The guards brought him up to the pyre that had been erected in the main square, and Merlin fought not to laugh as they tied him to the wooden pole in the centre. It was almost amusing, how they thought doing so would keep him restrained. Merlin knew mere ropes were hardly enough against any sorcerer—but then, sorcerers in this day and age were far weaker than Merlin, and he sobered as it occurred to him that though they had the power to escape, they still didn’t, because they didn’t have the power to overcome the might of Uther and his men.

Not like Merlin did.

A large crowd had gathered, and if Merlin hadn’t known that it was a royal edict (they had to show up, or Uther might think they were a sympathiser, and the King would not hesitate to execute them next) he would have felt sick to his stomach. Even without the edict, though, he knew some of them showed up for the sake of entertainment, and he hated Uther for how the King had warped the minds of the townsfolk.

Above him, on the castle balcony, Uther stood, looking down at him and his people with a stern visage, but Merlin could imagine the beginnings of a smirk on his face, thinking that he had bested the magic user tied to the pyre.

“People of Camelot,” Uther said, voice echoing down to where they all stood, “I have done my best to purge this land of magic, hoping to drive it away so its evil would infect no others. It has been a long, arduous task, but each sorcerer killed is another step toward peace across the kingdom. This man,” he pointed at Merlin—way too dramatically, in Merlin's opinion, “Is guilty of the crime of sorcery, and now he must be punished. May the fire purge him of the evil that is within him.”

Uther nodded, and the guards took that as their cue to approach the pyre again, this time with torches and the intent to light it afire, but well, Merlin couldn’t have _that_.

“ _Ic þé wiþdrífe!_ ” he shouted, and the guards closest to him were thrown backwards off the pyre. They landed hard on their backs, where they remained sprawled on the ground.

Merlin didn’t waste a moment.

“Now!” he yelled, as loudly as he could, and that was when the chaos _really_ started.

From everywhere, it seemed, people were pouring out into the square. They weren’t led by any one person, but Merlin’s eyes immediately picked out Arthur in the crowd, sword held high as he shouted something. Merlin was too far away to hear what, but knowing Arthur as he did, he could guess.

_For the love of Camelot._

With the onslaught of people, all carrying weapons, the townsfolk who had gathered to witness Merlin’s execution knew when to take a hint. All but the most foolish scattered immediately, taking cover where they could.

Uther’s men were caught off guard, but even then they recovered quickly, weapons at the ready as they began gathering in order to defend the only King they knew.

“ _Forwrít_ ,” Merlin murmured, and the ropes that bound his hands sliced neatly in half. Merlin allowed himself a small grin of victory and then launched himself off the pyre as swiftly as his aged form would allow. Once on the ground, he ran directly into the chaos, already reciting the spell that would allow him to revert back to his normal age.

Most of those with magic had been trained with a sword as well in order to aid them where their magic might fail. Merlin’s clumsiness had prevented that. Of all the people present for the battle, he was going to be the most vulnerable.

But he was also the strongest.

By the time he ran into Arthur, the spell had been fully reversed. Merlin caught sight of him just in time to yell “Look out!”

Arthur, armed with excellent reflexes, ducked immediately. Merlin sent a bolt of energy right where Arthur’s head had been just moments prior, striking down the guard that had been approaching Arthur’s blind spot.

Arthur nodded his thanks, and then he took off again, sword slicing through all those who aimed to stop him. Merlin took that as his cue to do the same, and he ran off in the opposite direction.

All around him were the sounds of battle, of watching comrades and enemies alike fall. Merlin sent out spell after spell, staying mostly on the offensive, but defending himself and others when he had to.

Merlin could sense when his comrades fell, but instead of thinking about it, he simply took down more of Uther’s men in return. The fight would never truly be over until they took down Uther, though, and Merlin had yet to see the tyrant King make an appearance on the battlefield.

Uther wasn’t a coward. He was, however, manipulative and cunning, and Merlin wouldn’t be surprised at all if Uther waited until they were tired out and lacking a significant number of men before he made his move.

Merlin had become someone willing to kill for Arthur’s sake. If he didn’t fight, the war would be lost to them, and for every moment he spent not fighting, the battle itself would drag out. Strong as his magic was currently, it would not last forever.

As it stood, the war wasn’t over unless they won, or he fell, and Merlin wasn’t planning on letting the latter happen. But just because he didn’t plan on it didn’t mean other people weren’t going to try. Merlin couldn’t help but let out a shout of agony as one of the knights managed to slash his upper arm while Merlin was turned the other way.

His other hand went immediately up to the wound without thinking, even as he whirled around and instinctively threw the man backwards with his magic, sword flying out of his hand. Merlin hissed, muttering a healing spell over the injury—it wasn’t his best work, but it would have to do for the moment.

That had been too close.

They were outnumbered five to one, and even with Merlin’s magic they would need nothing short of a miracle to turn the tide of battle in their favour.

That was exactly what they ended up getting.

Merlin could have cringed at the utter cliché of it all, their sign of hope arriving in their darkest hour, but he was a bit preoccupied with staying alive, and it wasn’t like he was going to send them away and tell them to come back at a less opportune time.

A Dragonlord and his dragon showing up was exactly what they needed in that moment.

They arrived in a show of blazing fire, distracting Uther’s men. That was a good thing, because Merlin was pretty sure he and his companions were all sitting ducks in that moment, gaping at the great beast flying above them—fighting _for_ them.

Merlin couldn’t blame them. Most hadn’t even known of Balinor and Kilgharrah’s existence. It wasn’t something they’d spread around. Despite the crowded battlefield, Merlin caught sight of Arthur. Unlike most, Arthur was not looking toward the sky, but given the large grin on his face as he fought, it was obvious he knew.

They could win this.

Balinor commanded Kilgharrah with all the true grace and skill of a warrior, and in that moment Merlin could see what Balinor meant, about how Dragonlords and dragons were brothers.

The enemy recovered soon enough at the sight of a dragon. Merlin was impressed, given the supposedly extinct nature of dragons.

Most of Uther’s men spent their time trying to stop the rampaging beast, rather than trying to fight against the others. That was one of their major mistakes—the dragon could not be stopped so easily, and where he could not burn them, he swatted them down like flies with his massive paws.

For Merlin and his companions, seeing dragon and Dragonlord both in action renewed their spirit, and they continued fighting with new hope.

Merlin heard the sound of shouting and someone charging. He turned with a spell at the ready, but the knight was apparently smarter than the others. He managed to dodge out of the way, his sword pointed at Merlin’s chest. This was _definitely_ not the time for Merlin to blank on any spells to use, and yet, he did exactly that.

The knight lunged forward, and fucking hell, that was it, Merlin thought, he was going to die—

His father appeared out of nowhere and stepped in the way of the blade.

Merlin watched in horror as the sword entered Balinor’s chest. Balinor’s eyes widened as he stumbled back, falling against Merlin as the knight pulled the sword out again.

Merlin’s hands wrapped around his father on reflex, and he shuddered as he felt blood welling up between his fingers. “No,” he whispered. “ _No!_ ”

His eyes burned as Merlin screamed, and he heard the clatter of the knight falling to the ground, but Merlin wasn’t paying any attention to him. He fell to his knees slowly, bringing his father down with him gently and uncaring of the battle raging around them as he rested his father’s head in his lap.

“Father, father I’m sorry, here, let me—” his hands fumbled as he placed them against the wound, and Merlin felt tears welling up in his eyes as the sight of his hands stained with his father’s blood; proof that his father was _dying_ “—let me heal you.”

“Merlin,” Balinor rasped, obviously struggling just to talk. “Merlin, don’t waste your energy. It’s too late for me.”

“No, no, no,” Merlin said, shaking his head.

“Shh,” Balinor said gently, “There are things—” he coughed “—I need to tell you.”

“No, father, try not to talk, save your energy. I can help you—”

Balinor shook his head slowly. “Son,” he said, pretending Merlin hadn’t spoken, “I knew this would happen. Kilgharrah and I both knew, if I left the cave to fight, I would not come out of it alive—but then I had a feeling that you would be in danger, and I couldn’t remain there. You were worth it.”

Merlin felt his tears beginning to fall, streaming down his face even as he continued to cradle his father against him, small sobs making themselves known no matter how hard he tried to fight them.

Balinor’s voice was growing weaker, but he continued speaking anyway, clearly determined to get out what needed to be said before it was too late.

“I never told you, about the legacy of a Dragonlord,” Balinor said. “It’s hereditary—passed down from father to son. But only with the death of the father shall the son inherit the gift.”

Merlin blinked back his tears, trying to understand what his father was saying. _He_ was a Dragonlord as well? It made sense—but Merlin didn’t really want to think about that when he had his father dying in his arms.

“What are you saying, father, that isn’t important right now—”

“No, Merlin, this _is_ important—you must use your gift to succeed where I could not. Save Camelot, and unite Albion. Promise me that, Merlin.”

Merlin found himself nodding blindly, wanting to honour his father’s last wish. “Yes, all right, I will, okay.”

Balinor smiled up at him weakly, though it more closely resembled a grimace than anything due to pain. “There’s a good lad. What you need to know above all else, though, is that I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

Even as Merlin held him, the spark of life faded from Balinor’s eyes, and Merlin was left holding the corpse of his father even as he bowed his head and sobbed quietly over him.

But something was different; Merlin could sense it, stirring just under his skin, inside his very _soul_ —oh, that was it, Merlin realised.

He raised his head, and across the battlefield he could see Kilgharrah. The dragon was fighting against his attackers, but his head was bowed, and every muscle on the beast’s body emanated a sort of sorrow. Merlin knew it came from the fact that Kilgharrah had felt Balinor’s death much like Merlin could feel the deaths of his comrades as their magic drained from their lifeless bodies.

As if he could feel Merlin’s gaze upon him, Kilgharrah lifted his head. Merlin could _feel_ the power thrumming in his veins as he stared into Kilgharrah’s vivid amber eyes.

The power of a Dragonlord.

Merlin threw back his head and roared.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Commanding Kilgharrah was as effortless to Merlin as using his magic, the language of the dragons spilling off his tongue without a thought. Deep down, Merlin could feel his father within him, a deep connection of the Dragonlords that could not be stopped even in death, and Merlin found he was incredibly at peace when using his newfound powers.

“ _Kilgharrah, avoid the townsfolk!_ ” he shouted, and immediately the dragon swallowed his fire, just managing to avoid burning a house that happened to be on the outskirts of the battlefield. Merlin sighed in relief; he didn’t want there to be any more casualties than was absolutely necessary, and the citizens of Camelot were not to blame.

Uther’s men moved in the second Kilgharrah wasn’t emitting flames, but Kilgharrah merely swatted them over with his massive tail, chuckling as they flailed on their backs.

“ _Focus_ ,” Merlin warned him, and Kilgharrah growled before he stepped on the men with vicious intent. Merlin winced; that hadn’t been what he’d meant, and it was clear Kilgharrah was willing to take advantage of any opening he could find. Merlin didn’t think it was because the dragon disrespected him, though Merlin obviously had a long way to go before he was anything like Balinor, but because the beast was allowing himself to get caught up in his rage and bloodlust.

The desire for revenge was never pretty.

Five men surrounded Merlin, and he frowned at them. _”Wæterhelmas_ ,” he uttered, and immediately they were frozen in ice. Merlin ducked under their swords, eyes still glowing brightly as he ran over to where Kilgharrah had backed three men into a corner. He hoisted himself onto the beast’s back. “ _Take to the skies_ ,” he said, and Kilgharrah nodded, his massive wings unfolding on either side of Merlin.

Kilgharrah leapt into the air, wings beating heavily. Merlin allowed himself a brief moment to be glad that he wasn’t scared of heights.

In the air, they were a target for archers, but Kilgharrah’s scales were tough as armour, and Merlin was quick with defensive spells, just in case any arrows might happen to get lucky. Kilgharrah swooped down toward the battlements where the archers stood, breathing fire at them as Merlin watched those who could not duck in time burn.

Once all the archers were taken care of, dragon and rider flew back down to the battleground. Merlin couldn’t help but let out a shout of pure exhilaration as they soared past Lancelot and Elyan fighting back to back before landing.

Once back on the ground, Merlin cast spells from atop Kilgharrah’s back as Kilgharrah fought with tooth and fire both.

Together, they managed to take down entire groups of men effortlessly. Merlin realised they were single-handedly turning the battle in their favour even more than Kilgharrah and his father had.

Slowly, the sounds of fighting ceased, and Merlin slid from Kilgharrah’s back to realise that most of Uther’s men had fallen, either dying or dead. His magic told him that they had lost a lot of their own people and their numbers had dwindled—but no more men were coming out.

They had been victorious in battle, but the war was not over yet. No cry of victory was to be given until Uther was dead.

Merlin directed his gaze to the castle; not once had the King made an appearance, and it seemed they were going to be forced to go to him. But then the great doors swung open, and the King came striding out, dressed in armour, helmet under his arm and sword strapped to his side.

“Well, well,” he said. “I never thought I’d see the day when the filthy magic users gained enough of a backbone to lay ambush here, let alone hold their ground. You’re all so good at hiding, after all, like the cowards you are.”

His gaze landed on Arthur. “And I didn’t ever imagine my own son would be so weak as to rely on their aid.”

Merlin gritted his teeth, but he made no move to step forward; he had promised Arthur, and he and the others watched silently as Arthur approached Uther.

“The time for words is long past,” Arthur said. “It’s time we end this.”

Uther grinned madly before putting his helmet on. “I couldn’t agree more.”

As one, they drew their swords, falling into position as they circled each other. Merlin gazed on with bated breath as Arthur made the first move, and the clash of swords rang through the area as Uther defended.

After that, it became harder to keep track of their movements; the flash of metal, like a deadly dance, Arthur was in his element. Merlin had to resist cheering when Arthur landed a blow, and then refrain from gasping when Arthur stumbled as he took a hit.

The fight went on, neither relenting. Uther had the advantage of his armour, but Arthur had the advantage of being quicker because of it. Eight years on the run hadn’t hindered Arthur’s ability with a blade at all, for the two were evenly matched. Arthur’s age and stamina were also excellent assets.

Eventually Uther faltered; Arthur moved in swiftly, and Uther fell.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then a cheer went up.

Merlin could hardly believe it. The King was dead, they had _won_ —but his joy immediately turned to dread when Arthur collapsed. Arthur had remained where he was upon the defeat of Uther; hadn’t even raised his sword in triumph before everyone started celebrating, and Merlin realised that something was very wrong.

Merlin ran toward Arthur, ignoring Uther’s corpse as he crouched down next to Arthur, and that was when he saw it.

A dagger had been embedded into Arthur’s side, too small to notice from a distance; Uther had to have done it during the fight, too quick for anyone to notice until it was too late.

Merlin stared at the blood seeping from the wound in horror, remembering his father’s own wound from earlier, and _no_ , Merlin was not going to let Arthur die too.

Arthur’s eyes were closed and he was frightfully still, but Merlin determinedly ignored that as he pressed his hands over the wound, trying not to think about the fact that it was the second time in one day his hands were going to be stained with the blood of a person he loved.

“ _Gestathole_ ,” he said.

Nothing happened.

By then, the others had begun to approach, standing a distance away as they watched warily, unsure of just what was happening. Kilgharrah and Morgana were closest, and Morgana laid a gentle hand on Merlin’s arm.

“Don’t, Merlin,” she whispered. “He’s gone. He’s dead.”

Merlin’s head snapped up to look at her. Tears were brimming in her eyes, but Merlin shook his head furiously. “No! He’s not, I can save him. _Ge hailige_ ,” he tried another. Again, nothing happened, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut.

“ _Þurhhæle dolgbenn._ ” Nothing. “ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!_ ”

Kilgharrah made a rumbling noise that rather resembled sorrow. “Young warlock, it’s too late.”

“Shut up!” Merlin shouted, even as he knew it to be truth. Arthur had died before Merlin had ever reached him. He couldn’t stop a sob from escaping, and Merlin lifted Arthur up so his head was resting in his lap. He cradled Arthur gently, crying softly. They had lost many men that day, and Merlin knew he wasn’t alone in his pain, but to lose his father and Arthur so close together made Merlin feel like his heart was about to burst.

No, he refused to accept this.

Merlin raised his head, turning to look at Kilgharrah. “Fix this,” he said. “You have to fix this.”

To his anger, Kilgharrah shook his head.

“Fix this!” Merlin repeated, louder. “Fix Arthur, fix this entire fucking situation, how are we supposed to complete our destiny?!”

Kilgharrah’s eyes were sad, but he remained firm. “You can’t simply bring people back to life, young warlock, it doesn’t work like that. You cannot give life, and you cannot restore it unless you maintain the balance. A life for a life. That is how the young Pendragon’s mother lost her own life, when she sacrificed it to bring her child into the world.”

Merlin flinched upon hearing that, but it was hardly enough to change his mind. “Fine. I offer my life in exchange for his. It’s worth far more than mine.”

Kilgharrah growled. “No.”

“I command you as a Dragonlord!” Merlin yelled. “ _Tell me how._ ”

Kilgharrah staggered back a step as if he’d taken a physical blow. “How _dare_ you!” he said.

But Merlin refused to relent, and Kilgharrah couldn’t resist the command for very long; finally he lowered his head, reluctantly, and breathed over Merlin.

It was like standing in a strong wind, and Merlin threw his head back, opening his eyes with a gasp as the dragon’s magical knowledge seeped into him. The dragon turned his head away in anger, but Merlin was past caring if he’d angered the beast. He looked back down at Arthur, and once again placed his hand over the wound, and began to speak.

“ _Butan þæt cwalu. Hrðe þon aidlian. Hrðe þon eðian. Bot ond tile mid þissum sundorcræftas þæm ealdaþ!_ ”

Distantly, he was aware that his voice was rough; not like when he performed normal magic, but when he spoke in dragontongue. Even as he chanted the spell, he could feel Kilgharrah’s opposition, and he had to grasp his hand with his other hand in order to keep it steady, but he didn’t stop. Merlin was more than prepared to die for Arthur.

As it turned out, magic was a funny thing. A fickle thing, even. Merlin could feel the spell channelling through Arthur—and then Uther let out a groan.

“What?” Morgana gasped, and even the dragon seemed to get over his anger as he bowed over Uther, sniffing at him.

“It would seem the King is not yet dead after all,” Kilgharrah said as Arthur and Uther slowly both started to glow gold as the magic flowed through them. Merlin watched in awe as Arthur’s eyes fluttered open right as Uther shuddered out his last breath, and he bent down to kiss Arthur out of sheer relief.

“What happened?” Arthur asked shakily as Merlin pulled away.

“We won,” Merlin said simply. “Uther is dead. I hope he’ll find peace now, for a man lost inside his mind for far too long. So,” he continued, “You’re King now. You’ll be a good King.”

Arthur smiled dazedly. “Oh, okay. That’s good. I wasn’t actually expecting that. Merlin, would you like to be my Court Sorcerer now I’m King?”

Merlin’s response was to kiss him again. “As if I’d say no, you prat.”

* * *

_**Epilogue** _

It had been several months since the battle for Camelot. Merlin vividly remembered to this day the funerals they’d held for those they lost; his father, Orn, Edwin, Isolde, Tauren, Mary Collins and her son, and far too many more for Merlin to even count. The scars, both mental and physical, would not fade for a long time to come.

But at the very least, their comrades had not died in vain. As the Druids prophecy had foretold, magic was slowly returning to the land. Merlin could feel it.

Since Arthur had become King, he had knighted Lancelot, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival. Leon became his second-in-command, and Lancelot and Gwen had gotten married soon after.

Morgana had left them to go live with the Druids, but she visited them from time to time.

Once everything had settled down, Merlin had gone and visited his parents, to let them know he was okay. He promised he would come see them often, and never again would he leave them without word for so long, and that he was sorry.

He was debating writing a book eventually, about his time in Camelot, and seeing how it went over on Earth. Who knew, maybe the legends of Arthur, Merlin, and everyone else would one day go down in history.

As for Arthur, he kept nagging Merlin to become his Royal Consort, and Merlin insisted that he was happy enough staying unmarried for years to come; maybe he’d agree when he was twenty-five. He’d have been fine with sooner, but it was worth it for the look of horror on Arthur’s face.

Either way, he sat on the throne next to Arthur’s because Merlin had learned early on that he was dreadful at court etiquette and needed Arthur to save him from fatal mistakes. The thrones were located in the council chambers, and that was where they were when Elyan found them.

“My Lords,” Elyan said with a bow, “The dragon has appeared in the main square and is demanding to see the both of you.”

Merlin brightened at that; he and Kilgharrah still had a shaky relationship and they only rarely kept in contact, but they were still connected by their souls. Merlin tried not to think about that part, really.

“Thank you, Elyan,” Arthur said in clear dismissal, and Elyan bowed again and left the room. Arthur got to his feet, grasping Merlin’s hand and tugging him upwards with a smile.

“Shall we go then, Wendy?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I knew I’d regret teaching you that reference.”

Arthur laughed, the sound golden, and they made their way outside to meet the dragon.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Kilgharrah bowed in greeting. “I bring great news,” he said. “I’ve heard rumours going ‘round of a dragon egg.”

“Holy shit,” Merlin said, feeling thrill well up in him, “Another dragon? Where?”

“The rumours lead me to believe is it hidden in the tomb of Ashkanar,” Kilgharrah told him, “but it will not be an easy journey. You’ll need the Triskelion to access the location, and it was divided into three pieces long ago. I know not where the pieces are.”

“Leave that to us,” Arthur said. “We’ll find them, and then I promise you we will find the egg.”

Merlin could barely contain his excitement at the possibility of another dragon. It meant Kilgharrah wouldn’t be the last anymore, and it was another adventure on the horizon, just waiting for them.

Life was never boring in Camelot.


End file.
